Seven Treasures, Part 5: guest post by Amy Mattes

Read the series Introduction here.

An original Skirtboarder bred in the Kootenays of British Columbia, Amy Mattes has been called “a feminine tomboy with an old soul” and “a walking mood ring.” She loves to travel, drink Jameson, and take long walks on the beach with her Boston terrier, Louie. Amy is also attempting to write the next great Canadian novel. She’s got scars and stories from over a decade of skating, and while she no longer enjoys the feel of falling down, she still relishes the feel of getting back up and trying again. Perhaps for this reason she’s been called both “intrepid” and “wise.”

 

 

Here are my seven treasures.

On family . . .

1.

After my mom’s mom passed away, my sister and I were presented with a Ziploc bag full of her jewellery to pick through. Most of it was costume style and tacky, and I could picture the bobbly rings on her bony fingers accentuated by bright nail polish as she smoked a menthol cigarette (she always wanted us to grow our nails too, so she could show us how to paint them), and the gaudy bracelets on her skinny wrists as she held a glass of vodka orange juice. I finally chose a long silver chain detailed with unique, flattened silver circles that seemed in style.

I wear it a lot. It has become my go-to for dates, and the most elegant way to dress up a basic outfit. I love its length, its weight, the way it lays between my breasts. The necklace makes me feel sexy and, to be honest, I get a lot of sex when I wear it. Even though I don’t know how long she owned it, I like to imagine that it made my grandmother too feel sexy, when she was younger and single, and before she got sick.

2.

I had a selfish reason for learning to play the harmonica. I wanted my mother to give me the one that had belonged to her father. My New Year’s resolution one year was to learn her favourite song, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz, and I did. I played it for her eagerly, hoping that in return, she’d let me have the instrument. But I discovered it would take more than that. It seemed I had to learn every Bob Dylan and Neil Young song as well as every obscure train-travelling song ever written.

When she was finally ready to part with the harmonica, my dad decided he was ready to part with his father’s as well, so I was given both my grandfathers’ instruments at the same time, a dear couple of heirlooms. They sit on a shelf in my apartment now, and looking at them transports me back in time to when my grandfathers played them. Every once in a while I pick one up at home and play, or take one camping, learning a new song or just playing one of those I practised to earn these gifts.

3.

For my 30th birthday I wanted to play rich girl. I wanted a big to-do. So I planned a girls-only trip to Las Vegas and started organizing a black-dress-themed party. Only the dress I envisioned was nowhere to be found. I am very picky. I am also quite poor.

At Value Village I finally found it in the costume aisle, a perfect one-shouldered, ruffled LBD for $19.99. I decided that the only suitable accent would be a pair of diamond studs. Now, I had never owned a pair of diamonds, and I knew I shouldn’t spend the money on them (a month’s worth of groceries). Still, I was determined. I shopped around, but was unenthused by the ones behind the counter.

One day I mentioned the diamond search to my father, and soon after, in the mail, I received a note from my mother with something special attached:

Dear Amy,

Your father bought me these earrings when we first got married. As our marriage got better the diamonds got bigger. Just kidding. Happy Birthday.

Love, Mom

I wore them for my 30th birthday — with the dress, they were just right — and I’ll always honour this gift, its story, and my parents, who have now been married for thirty-four years.

On growing up . . .

4.

The May long weekend in my hometown is a special festival with a May pole dance and pageant and parade. As kids we’d watch the girls in the pageant giving speeches and showing off their talents and we’d be hysterical with excitement for them, picking our favourite gowns. When I was fifteen, I entered the contest and was crowned Miss Kaslo Princess 1997. I still have my gloves, tiara, and sash tucked away in a box. The teen years are an awkward and often terrible time, but these treasures remind me I had a lot of fun visiting other towns as Miss Kaslo Princess, sitting on the back of convertible cars, waving at pedestrians, throwing candy in parades, and knowing little girls were admiring my dress. I’m sure the adults wondered how I smiled all the time. Well, I’ll tell you: the trick is to put Vaseline on your teeth. And when you wave to the crowds you chant to yourself, “Elbow elbow, wrist wrist, touch pearls, smile—switch.” And then you switch hands and say it again.

5.

After high school I went to Europe with a backpack and acted like I was discovering everything myself. In Barcelona I made a friend from Sweden who offered me a free ticket to see Depeche Mode, the English electronic band, so like any young rebel who doesn’t care about money, I decided it was worth missing my flight to stay for the concert. I spent this stolen extra time in that great Spanish city and had the night of my life. I have never felt so alive. I still have the ticket stub, which is stuck to a Polaroid of me in front of the Eiffel Tower dated September 13, 2005. The energy and freedom of that Barcelona night put my impressionable youth behind me, and a wild sovereignty took its place.

On love . . .

6.

The first act of change was to take all the photos of us off the walls and put them face down, eventually moving them to a milk crate by the garbage pickup. The one photo I did keep is a strip of three black-and-whites of us together that we took in one of those three-dollar photo booths, at the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California. I remember it was taken right before we played a game of pirate mini-golf, and right after we drank large Cokes and went on a spinning ride that messed my hair and made both of us laugh, a lot. In the photos we’re making faces and striking comical poses and having a good time. I have a hard time looking at them; they make me sad. But I don’t want to get rid of them either.

On home . . .

7.

My last item is a vintage suitcase, currently used as décor. It reminds me daily that I’ve come from somewhere and have places to go but that home is where the heart is. If I needed to, I could put my whole life in that suitcase and be portable. I love old, second-hand treasures, and this one is a symbol to me of movement, but also of foundation.

 

 

 

 

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Amy Mattes participated in Namaste Gardens Writing & Yoga Retreat in Costa Rica, January 2012.