Running my finger across the milk-white pearls wrapped around my left wrist, I smiled.
I was sitting in the car on the way to achieving the goal of the last five years of my life: college graduation.
In a few short hours, I would be the recipient of a B.A. in Theatre—a prize I had worked more hours toward, pulled more late nights for and pushed myself harder than I ever had for anything.
But as my finger traced the familiar weight of the pearls, half hidden by the sleeve of my graduation gown, my mind was somewhere else.
This bracelet was a gift from my grandfather—the last Christmas gift he gave me before his passing. He had often specially chosen jewelry presents for the women in his family and, while this bracelet is not of a particularly high monetary value, wearing it is like receiving one last hug from him.
Many of my pieces of jewelry are like this bracelet: of low or unknown value and priceless to me nonetheless.
Each one holds memories within its simple beads and wornsmooth clasp.
There’s the silver cross necklace that my church youth group gave me when I graduated high school.
There’s the burgundy, maroon and copper strand that was once my aunts’. There’s the many pieces
There’s the many pieces that I made for myself—a wire-wrapped rhinestone pendant, an earthy macrame choker, a bead loop chain of grey marble.
And if I look farther, into the back recesses of my older jewelry storage, there are the stringy remains of my earliest beading experiments. No longer wearable, they display the early whispers of my love for jewelry making and hours of childhood fun spent creating colorful patterns on the floor of my bedroom.
Finally, a little glint of faded silver in the farthest, farthest back corner denotes Maximillion,a silver frog pendant clinging to its delicate chain. Named after the Maximillion and Cassandra bedtime stories my father used to make up for me, the necklace was a gift from him.
The stories came complete with their own theme song that he always sang. Everytime I see that necklace, I still hear it in my mind.
And that is what I love about jewelry.
It’s not so much the cost or the luxury or even the aesthetic.
It’s the stories. Valuable memories encased in fragile glass and stone and metal. Portable reminders that we carry on our fingers and necks and hands.
And so, as I select a necklace to wear or a bracelet to snap on my wrist each morning before rushing out the door, I’m reminded for just a moment to value the people and memories I am making.
Because those are the truly irreplaceable jewels.