I don’t know if lockets are on trend (unlikely), but ever since I visited Keats House in Hampstead, London, I’ve been a bit obsessed with them. I only have two to my name—a white gold and diamond one my parents got me for my thirtieth birthday and a silver one with multicolored stones my late-grandmother bought me years ago. Unfortunately, I never appreciated that one until recently. But back to Keats. I get all misty-eyed every time I think of Fanny Brawne’s locket that was encased in glass as to protect it and the tiny tuft of Keats’ hair, bound by thread, resting inside it. I know preserving things in such beautifully sentimental ways was common in the nineteenth century, but I just found myself taken aback by the romance of it all. I wanted to steal a piece of my husband’s hair and promptly insert it into a locket, but I didn’t have one at the time (and I’d forgotten about my grandmother’s). Now that I have two, I still haven’t done it. I’m thinking of putting my little girl’s hair in my grandmother’s locket, as my daughter is her namesake, and my husband’s in the diamond locket. Although perhaps it isn’t wise to be carrying around DNA these days . . .
I was searching for more lockets and found these—all wonderful in their own way.
And then there were diamonds . . .
That’s it for now. Nice to write something after my rather brief Internet hiatus (which was relaxing by the way—it’s amazing how much more calm I am without having the weight of everyone else’s lives on my shoulders). Also impressive that the spam sites kept visitors coming.