Jun 6, 2013 3 min read

I dove into my jewelry box this week to see if I’m richer than I think I am. I’d just seen the TV commercial for the four-thousandth time – you know the one – and I was inspired to examine my 50 years’ worth of trinkets to see what I have.

There’s a big push to get people to sell their gold, silver and coins. Obviously, these places aren’t running a charity, and gold-buying places extract more cash from grandma’s old brooch than we could. But the commercials ask a tantalizing question: How much money could I get from my old stuff?

Some people go to the bank to visit their jewelry. I go under the bed, where two velvet trays hold it all. When I pulled out the trays, I sneezed; everything was covered in dust. I tend to wear the same two pair of earrings and the same two necklaces every day, removing them at night and tossing them on my desk. I have other things, but I ignore all of it. Looking at those dusty trays was like meeting up with old acquaintances, people I remember and liked at one time, but maybe didn’t like quite enough to keep in touch.

Looking at my things, I see my sense of style laid out before me. I think I might dress like a hippie, or at least shop like one: there were talismans hanging from leather straps and chokers of turquoise beads and colorful braided bracelets, items probably inappropriate for the professional world where I now reside. In one corner of the tray were a few large, gold-toned button earrings, remnants of my days as a young TV news anchor in the 1980s. I think you can picture my hairdo from back then.

The trays held tangles of silver and gold chains, some twisted into knots the size of walnuts. Even if I were inclined to wear those pieces again, I would never be able to unfurl them. Those could go for sale. There was a cameo ring in a size fit for a linebacker; it had belonged to my grandmother. Holding it there I could picture her large, long fingers as she stretched out her strudel dough. I couldn’t part with that ring.

There were a couple of lone gold earrings, their mates having vanished long ago. Tucked into the velvet grooves were a few single “diamond” stud earrings, but I don’t think they were diamonds.

The charm of expensive jewelry has always escaped me. Given the choice of a gold chain or plane ticket, I will always take the trip. If I had money for both, I’d buy two tickets. These days I need adventures more than I need compliments.

One version of those TV commercials shows the customers being astonished at the amount of money they’re being offered for their old jewelry. I wish the ads were more specific. Did that woman just get a check for five grand? Was she selling the engagement ring she received from the man who left her at the altar?

I tossed the knotted chains into a bag, and a couple of the lone earrings. Next time I pass one of those stores, I’ll go in and see what they have to say. But I don’t think my jewelry will bring much. I was never that kind of person.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.