My Grandmother's Pearls

I asked for pearls for Christmas (Myrrh says your first string of pearls must always be a gift) and my mom mentioned it to my grandmother who didn't want to buy my sister and I new pearls when she had so many old ones that she could give us. My grandmother can't tell the difference between real and fake pearls, although in the case of the ones she was giving us, it was apparent: the fake ones are old and large and chipping and the real ones are small and yellowed and delicate. There is a quadruple strand of pearls that I can't imagine my grandmother, a tiny little woman, wearing and a pearl bracelet. And the pearls that my grandfather gave to my grandmother the day that he proposed (which was Christmas Eve. He gave her pearls so that if their engagement ended she wouldn't keep the ring as a Christmas gift but give it back!). And there are the pearls, very long and very yellowed beyond wearing that my grandmother's grandmother gave her (she was the oldest granddaughter, as I am). And other old strands that my grandmother doesn't even remember the story of.

Going through her jewelry and her mother's jewelry with my grandmother is delightful--she always tries to make my sister and I wear some of her clip-on (very painful) earrings. And trying on her hats! It makes you imagine the days that she wore cutting edge fashions, at least for our little town.

The thing about grandparents' houses is that they hold tradition--nothing ever goes away from them, but new things get added. Seeing the Christmas decorations at my grandparent's house was comforting; everything was just where it should be--the creche was on its green velvet fabric, the white sled was on a red velvet fabric over the window of the door, the little man with cheeks you squeeze to get a hershey kiss was hanging on the tree.