First, there’s this.
 
I love my engagement ring.
 
Heck, what’s not to adore?  Unique because the Hubster and I and a jeweler designed it together, the white gold band has an oval, three-quarter carat diamond in its center—and yes, the stone is officially cruelty free. Then there’s a smaller, denim-colored sapphire on the left side, and another on the right.  The figurative cherry on top is eight tiny diamond chips, set flush next to the blue stones. 
 
I wear the ring proudly.  And, having married for the first time at the age of 50, I still sometimes find myself looking at it with a certain amount of awe.  In fact, except for the times when I’ve traveled to what might be iffy regions of the world, when I then leave the ring at home, I’ve never removed it.
 
Still.
 
If I’d taken a few steps back, I might have noticed that there were other options when it came to my left ring finger.
 
No, I wouldn’t have opted for a cigar band (as a former celebrity reporter, I can tell you that this is exactly what Richard Gere initially gave his first wife, Cindy Crawford), or a tattoo on said digit (a move that Pamela Anderson and rocker Tommy Lee did when they honored their vows).
 
But, maybe, I would have gone for something old and then made it mine. 
 
Which is to say, new to me.
 
A quick Ebay search for vintage engagement rings yields nearly 4,000 hits.  The jewelry here is mostly diamonds, but there are also rubies, sapphires and emeralds.  Prices are user friendly, too, with some pieces posted at less than $200.   (Because of my own mostly positive experiences with this site, both buying and selling, I believe most sellers stay honest in order to stay in business.)
 
Also, repurposing and recycling aren’t exactly unknowns to this girl clown. 
 
I’m the third owner of the vehicle I drive; second owner to a coffee maker, and no doubt here, the latest of several owners to a 1950s Kenmore toaster (it’s built like a solid car from that era, too, all chrome and flash, and works perfectly).  Most of my pots and pans came from estate sales, as did my nifty turquoise Sunbeam mixer.  There’s more:
I have a beautiful piece of art hanging in my office that’s nearly entirely made up of used pens and pencils.  This artist’s domain, I kid you not, is creating pieces from stuff she scavenges from junkyards.  Oh, and in the back yard, my raised herb box boasts recycled fence posts for borders; the same wood makes up the potting table. 
 
Yet the idea of repurposing a piece of jewelry wasn’t something I’d ever considered, until this happened.  
 
A good friend has an Etsy business that’s more a hobby than a money-making enterprise. A few months ago, she messaged me her latest offerings, mostly elegant vintage dinnerware, brooches and linens from France and The Netherlands.  I tend to be a collector of Americana stuff—show me an old Pyrex dish or cookbook that I don’t already have, and my heart goes pitty-pat—so I wasn’t expecting to find much.
 
Then… my breath caught at a single piece of jewelry.
 
It was a child’s delicate charm bracelet featuring The 10 Commandments, intertwined with tiny pearls.   I knew, immediately, that I had to have it.
 
Once the dainty bauble arrived, my friend explained a bit of its history.
 
The piece had come from the Irish side of her mother’s family, she wrote, and had probably been a communion or christening memento.
 
“I have a lot of religious items from my family,” she continued. “And, it’s hard to know what to do with them.  I didn’t feel right about discarding items that were important, even sacred to them.  And even though I’m not religious, I recognize
the beauty of the objects.”
 
My friend went on to say that there was a time when many fine things were made in the United States (and elsewhere, too).  Consequently, she continued, “I cannot see the point of buying new, inferior items when there are so many wonderful, real, quality things to be had.” 
 
I couldn’t agree more.
 
So now, with this sweet wristlet having been delivered to my doorstep, the stage was set to make it my own.
 
To this end, I carefully transported the piece to our local jewelers, a husband and wife team whose work I know and trust.  Neither was sure of its exact vintage, but they thought it could be from the 1940s.  In any case, within a couple of days they had replaced the clasp with a larger, adult size one; added a couple of inches of links to fit my grown-up wrist, and put on new, real pearls (turns out the original ones were not).  They also cleaned the bracelet, making each charm shine as bright as a new penny.
 
Wearing this now gorgeous bangle makes me feel that all is right with the world, so I’ve been wearing it a lot.  Having it on is also a pretty direct, in my face (or rather, on my arm) reminder to try my best to follow those rules of life that, I think, are found in some form in nearly every religion and philosophy. 
 
Just as important, I’ve now discovered one other way to leave less of a footprint on a planet that more and more, requires all of its inhabitants to be extra mindful and extra purposeful caretakers.
 
Recycling, repurposing, and in the end, giving a lovely piece of jewelry—and its history—a brand new lease at life.  
 
And that, I’m certain, is A Very Good Thing. 
 
How about you? What do you have that’s old, but made new?  I look forward to your comments and stories!
 
P.S. Find the junkyard artist at http://junkgirls.com.  My friend’s Etsy site is www.etsy.com/shop/JardinBlanche?ref=l2-shopheader-name, and for the jewelry store I so love, check out https://www.yelp.com/biz/legacy-jewelers-los-osos.

Those of A Certain Age, I think, have memorized the best vacations we ever took; top places we’ve called home,
and favorite jobs of all time.  Foodies like me can even wax nostalgic about the finest meals we’ve had the pleasure
of experiencing.
 
But for other folks, also like me, who grew up around books and can’t imagine our lives without them, there’s another inventory that comes to mind—one that goes back to our very early years. 
 
I’m talking about the children’s books (also called kiddie literature or “kiddie lit” for short) that were read to us by parents and nursery school teachers; as well as the ones we later sat down with on our own, and those that we then passed on to our children and even grandchildren. Given that I got my first library card at five years old, that’s a whole lot of pages to ponder.
 
I was reminded of my very favorite children’s stories a couple of weeks ago, when a librarian chum posted an article last month during Children’s Literature Week. The 14-page piece is courtesy of Atlas Obscura, a web site that bills itself as “the definitive guide to the world’s hidden wonders.”  The site asked its followers to recount those little-known books that have stuck with them, but ones that also hardly anyone else seems to remember.
 
Nine hundred people answered, and from those responses, the editors compiled their favorite two dozen titles.  And, although I think of myself as a big fan—and collector—of kiddie lit, I wasn’t familiar with any of them. 
 
Included are The Summer Birds, about a group of children in rural England who learn to fly one summer; Time Windows, a ghost story involving a little girl and her doll house, and The War Between the Pitiful Teachers and the Splendid Kids, all about a school that’s grimly serious about turning out perfect children, and the eventual rebellion of its students.
 
Clearly, I’ve missed a lot of terrific books.
 
Still, I wished I had seen the original clarion call, because I absolutely would have responded. 
 
But wait.
 
Because I’m the sole proprietor of Girl Clown Dancing, I still get the chance to name my favorites right here, right now.  Happily, I have copies of most of them. And because only one is a book that most don’t know about, I’m hoping that not only are these books still remembered, but that they’re still being read by millions of kids—and adults, too.  
 

• Me Too is a big, grey-covered picture book published in 1945, and would be my entry into the little-known category.  It’s the enchanting story of a very smart, very curious and very mischievous duckling. “Me Too’s name wasn’t Me Too at all,” the book begins.  “It was Herbert.  But everybody called him Me Too because every time his mother said, ‘I am going to take the older children to the pond,’ he said, “Me too, Me too!” 

• Then there’s The Little House.  Written in 1942, I still remember, as a very little girl, sitting in an itty-bitty library chair and turning its pages over and over again.  Told exclusively from the house’s point of view, the tiny pink house with big shutters lives a quiet and uneventful life, with birds and flowers and children for company. Still, she wonders what life would be like in the city, which boasts fast moving cars, busy people and twinkling lights.  Eventually, she finds out.  Perhaps this book might also be considered obscure; not even the owner of our town’s indie bookstore was familiar with this title when I placed a special order for it last year.

• Next up is a book from Dr. Suess, who I like but don’t love… except for Happy Birthday to You.  Coming out in 1959, it’s tells the magical Technicolor tale of one very lucky birthday boy who lives in the land of Katroo. After flying through his bedroom window early one morning, The Great Birthday Bird whisks the child from adventure to adventure over the course of one very long day, including a stop at The Birthday Flower Jungle and the famous Mustard-Off Pools (which I imagined diving into one day myself).  I love this book so much that I’ve bought it for more than a few friends.   

• Released in 1941, Make Way for Ducklings has been in continuous print since that time, selling more than two million copies.  With its gorgeous charcoal illustrations rendered in sepia tones, the book tells the story of ducks Mr. and Mrs. Mallard (is anyone seeing a theme here?).  After more than a few (mis)adventures, the couple decide to raise their eight little ones—Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack—on an island in the Boston Public Garden.  I bought Ducklings for my daughter before I even brought her home.

• I’m hardly adverse to chapter books either, which is where Mary Poppins, first published in 1933, and the Doctor Doolittle series come in.  For those who know Poppins only through the movie and play, it’s worth noting that the original nanny character was anything but saccharine sweet.  She’s much more dimensional and much more human: while her magical powers are very much in play, Poppins’ behavior toward her charges (Jane and Michael Banks, then later, twins John and Barbara) could sometimes be downright mean.  Also, I learned one of my first big words from the first book: perambulator, better known today as a baby stroller.

• The initial Doctor Dolittle book came out in 1920; 11 more followed, with the final one released in 1952.  All penned by Hugh Lofting, the stories about a physician who shuns human patients in favor of animals (he can talk to them!) made their premiere in Lofting’s illustrated letters to his own children.  They were literally written from the trenches of World War I when actual news, the author later said, was either too horrible or too dull. I don’t know that I got to every single book, but I did read every one my town library had on the shelf.

 
That’s it for now, but frankly, I could list a dozen more kiddie lit favorites and still be far from finished.  If you haven’t read a grand children’s book lately, the list above—if this girl clown does say so herself—is A Very Good Start.
 
Please tell me about your favorite children’s books.  I look forward to your comments and stories!
 
P.S. The entire Atlas Obscura article is here, at www.atlasobscura.com/articles/obscure-childrens-books-reader-responses