May 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Bertha Beth Freeman. My maternal grandmother’s maiden name. Her wooden jewelry box a large flat square, was hand painted with a border of verdent green which, framed scenes of gold-leafed hunters and dogs. Inside this treasure chest, I used to pillage for hours, fingering carefully thru her collection of things. There were many diminutive jewels to explore, a fierce gold lion roaring, finely filigreed bees in flight, and resplendent emerald hummingbirds. But her family jewelry was the most memorable as each piece seemed to carry with it a story; these rings and brooches and watches and necklaces passed down thru generations so that each had acquired its own unique experience – watching the world from one body or another, living out one era of history then being re-given and re-born to a new owner and a new future. I might not have known my great-grandmother, but perhaps a little twinkle of her spirit lives in the sapphire ring she had given BBF for her 18th birthday, which now sits somewhat awkwardly on my finger. I stare at it, thinking it looks out-of-place on my hand, wondering, where has this ring gone, and what has it seen? The life story of this ring – the same life story of my grandmother – begs to be shared.