Day 29: "Is it real, or is it Memorex?" If you had your eyes shut, you might find it difficult to distinguish between the sounds made by the crisping leaves of the Japanese maple and my mother's Bakelite necklace. As a child, I was sometimes allowed to play with her jewelry, and no piece fascinated me more than the three strands of maple leaves. An inconvenient item to wear (it tends to clump just like the real thing), it is a delight to handle, and the rustling noise it makes sends your thoughts to running with abandon through the debris of autumn. The color brings to mind caramel apples and cider, pumpkins and scarecrows and black cats sitting tall on bales of hay. I find myself wishing for an excuse to wear it, but then as I drape it around my neck, my memory fails to bring up any image of my mother with leaves under her chin. I think perhaps she was enchanted by the sound and feel as I am. Who needs functionality, anyway?
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