It all started with my grandma’s pearls. More specifically, my adventure began when a costume necklace with thousands of glass pearls fell apart. The string that held them together had dissolved over many years of wear, and the pearls tumbled, cascaded, hit the floor, bounced and rolled. Everywhere.
As an avowed romantic myself, I have always been inspired by my grandparents’ lifelong romance, which began in first grade and, I believe, still lasts somewhere, where they are off swing dancing to that big band in the sky. During her final years, after my grandfather had passed on and before her mind wandered too far into dementia, my grandmother used to talk to me of seeing him someday, and of being happy when she saw him, and I knew, without a doubt, that she wasn’t talking about God, but about her beloved husband.
Before I get too maudlin, I will recollect the pageant of magnificent times we had, galloping horses, hiking, fishing, and yes, dancing--though I never could get the hang of not leading.
I return to the pearls. I have come to the point in my life where my daughter’s friends and my friends’ daughters are choosing partners for their own lives. While this fact makes me feel positively ancient, it also raises my sincerest wish for them, that they take part in such a transcendent love. I have, to that end, used my grandma’s pearls in my jewelry, especially the hair pieces I have designed for weddings, with a prayer that the spirit of love will continue.