Family · Little things

My granddaughter drew our family for school. I was the only one in grey.

Lily is nine. Last month her teacher asked the class to draw their families, and Lily brought hers to Sunday lunch to show me before it went up on my fridge.

There's Daniel in his red work shirt. Kirsten with her yellow hair and pink earrings. The two kids in every colour in the crayon box. Even the dog has a purple collar.

And then, right at the end, there's me.

Grey cardigan. Grey skirt. Grey hair, which is fair enough. Not one bit of colour.

I asked her, laughing, why Nanna was all grey. She shrugged the way nine-year-olds do.

"Because you always wear the grey one, Nanna."

She wasn't being unkind. That's what made it sting.

"Put your ears on, love"

My mum had a saying. Every morning before she walked out the door, to the shops, to church, even to hang out the washing, she'd stop at the hallway mirror and put her earrings in.

"Put your ears on, love," she'd tell me. "You never know who you'll meet."

I used to think it was vanity. I understand it differently now. It was her way of saying: I'm still here, and I still count.

That night after Sunday lunch I stood in my bathroom and had a proper look at myself for the first time in a long while. Grey cardigan. Bare ears. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd put a pair of earrings in.

I raised two children mostly on my own and worked for thirty years. Somewhere along the way I decided pretty things were for other people. There was always something more important. And without ever noticing, I'd become the grey one.

Janet's earrings

A week later my friend Janet turned up to our Thursday coffee wearing a pair of silver earrings I'd never seen before. When I said something, she went a bit pink and told me where they'd come from.

A small Australian jewellery shop called Jenny & Sue. Two women who've run it together for 34 years and are now retiring. Rather than pack the last of their stock into boxes, they're giving it away. The pieces themselves are free. You pay for the shipping.

I'll be honest with you. I didn't believe her. I've been around long enough to know that "free" usually costs you something.

What I checked before I ordered

I write for a living, so I'm a researcher by habit. Before I put my card details anywhere, I did my homework. In case it's useful to you, this is what I found:

• They have a rating of 4.8 out of 5 from more than 2,700 reviews, with plenty of photos from women around my age.
• There's no subscription. It's a one-off order, and you see the full total, shipping included, before you pay anything.
• Every order is sent with a tracking number, and there's a page on their site where you can follow your parcel.
• There's a contact email on every page if you have a question.
• Every piece comes with a Lifetime Colour Warranty.

None of that is a guarantee, of course. But it was enough for me to decide the worst that could happen was losing a bit of postage money and learning a lesson.

What arrived

I chose three pairs from a collection they call Tidewater Drops. Silver spirals that reminded me of the ones Mum used to wear. A pair with a soft white opal. And blue stone drops with a little pearl.

The parcel came a few days later. Tissue paper, everything in good shape, and a handwritten card that said Thank you for 34 years. Love, Jenny & Sue.

They're light enough that I forget I'm wearing them, which matters more at my age than I'd like to admit. The opal ones catch the kitchen light in the mornings. The blue drops have become my "going out" pair, even if going out only means coffee with Janet.

Lily noticed first

The first time I wore them out was to Lily's school concert. Navy blouse, a bit of lipstick, the opal earrings. I even took a silly photo of myself in the car park, which I never do.

Lily spotted me from the stage. Afterwards she ran over, grabbed my hand and said, "Nanna, you look sparkly."

Two weeks later, there was a new drawing on my fridge.

I'm not ashamed to say I cried a little.

Then I got a bit carried away

Because the pieces are free, I went back and ordered a few more pairs to give away. Zirconia drops for my sister Carol, who remembers everyone's birthday and never gets spoiled herself. Little heart earrings for Janet, to say thank you for telling me. And a pair of spirals for Kirsten, my daughter-in-law, who asked about mine at Sunday lunch and then quietly asked again.

Janet wore hers to coffee the following Thursday. We sat there like two schoolgirls, admiring each other's ears.

A small thing

It's a small thing, a pair of earrings. I know that. It hasn't changed my life.

But it has changed my mornings. I stop at the mirror now, like Mum did, and put my ears on. It reminds me that I'm still here, and I still count.

If you've been the grey one in the family picture for a while, I'm not going to tell you what to do. I'll only pass on what Mum told me.

Put your ears on, love.

Sharon