Coming Home – To Symbolism

We have another milestone birthday coming up this week when the ‘baby’ who stands at 6’5” finally comes of age. We have a tradition. I pick something out of my jewellery box, something meaningful to me, something with a story to tell, something that shares a bit of family history as well as joy when it’s unwrapped. It’s a gift of love and hope for all the things Ian and I wish for our kidults. Mr A received the ring I bought for myself in the first year of work. It represented independence and pride and possibility for those are the emotions I was feeling when I made it mine all those years ago. Ms G received the ring my family gave to me for my 21^st. It symbolises family and love and connection. Ah, Mr M. For you the symbol must also be one of equal importance and I know just the thing. ..You’ll find out on your actual birthday, my dear boy.

I’m sure I’m not superstitious for this is neither a belief in nor fear of something that is unknowable. They are symbols – standing for or representing something else.

I’ve always assigned ‘things’ with meaning. I have secret meaning behind most of my jewellery, from memories of people to expressions of emotion to one particular piece that reminds me that perhaps I should be a little bit more humble… My precious fountain pen reminds me of potential, seen by a boyfriend who had faith in my abilities well before I could see them for myself.

I name my things. All of them. My cars (Daisy-Belle, Sunflower, Tulip and Rosie). My computers (Rose Red and now Tallulah). They’re not being anthropomorphised (given the life of something alive) they’re just given a name so that when I talk to them (I know, I know, but you can’t say you’re that surprised!) it’s a chat with a friend.

Sometimes, though, it’s about how an object is the carrier of memory. It can be as obvious as a souvenir from a trip or as subtle as a pressed flower inside a book that only you know how to find and sparks recollection only in you. I do love those things. The peace lily that arose from the dead when we returned from a month long holiday and had forgotten to ensure it was watered. It reminds me to never, ever give up. A friend shared a picture of a necklace with charms carrying her memories from a time long gone when she was a free-spirited traveller. That time will come again, my friend. Does that necklace remind you of how you felt and who you were back then whenever you wear it? 

Each member of our family has their own special symbol. Ian is the sun, I am the heart. Mr A is the butterfly, Ms G is the angel and Mr M is the star. I can’t remember how it started but now we are so proud of and indelibly marked by our own signs. We have used these symbols for many things over the years – they hang at the end of the Advent beads, they were on labels for school clothes, they’re used as short hand to denote who needs to do jobs and apparently, now there is a big birthday ahead signifying adult decision making, they may even appear as a tattoo. We will see about that, my son!

Tattoos are another form of carrying our symbols with us. Well, I think that’s true, for I don’t actually have any. They seem to me to be an ‘ex libris’ stamp on skin instead of on paper. They can be a brand, a symbol, a memory. 

*(note to Mr M – this is not explicit approval to get a tattoo!!!)

I wonder sometimes if I should spend time photographing each piece that is symbolic to me in some way and writing down the story I have ascribed to them. And then I think… does that take away the potential for someone else to love it under a different name? Or under no name at all? If meaning cannot be changed, how on earth can awe ever wear second hand jewellery or, goodness me, a pre-loved wedding dress. Unless they are passed on by someone who can also share the story could they mean failed love? Death? Antique markets the world around would collapse in an instant!

So, no, I haven’t done that. But I might. I might do it just for me, because it will bring me joy and satisfaction to collate the symbols that have meaning just for me.

The symbol I most align myself with is the fleur-de-lys. I cannot recall how it started (Girl Guides perhaps?) but it’s long been the symbol I am drawn to. I have it on stamps and notepaper and paper weights and pencils and on pretty much anything I can find it on. It’s the feature decoration on my gorgeous writing slope.

And now there is a flamingo who has nudged its way into my life and demands a place. As far as I can tell, there are never too many symbols. This one will mean perseverence.  How about you? Is there a symbol that carries particular meaning just for you?

I had written this blog and was ready to press ‘publish’. And then I found myself at a funeral. The devastation of inexplicable loss, the grief of a family and of friends, the never to be understood absence of a life that was integral to a community, all of this was wrapped in symbolism that pierced me to the core. The precious’ things’ in front of us that had once been so loved represented a life, the ceremony represented belonging and respect. The ringing of the bell at the end to stand down… it broke us all.

I came home and nearly deleted these words of mine as they are so superficial in comparison to the deeply held meaning of religion and of uniformed service. It’s taken me a few days of reflection to leave my original words here. I hope they capture the light. It can be even more welcome when you are looking at it from darkness.

Don’t just ask those around RUOK. Ask them ‘what’s going on with you, what’s up?” Then give them a hug. Tell them you love them.