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Every once in awhile, I will run across a small snippet of information included with a particular article of jewelry.  This thimble was wrapped in a piece of paper that bears this inscription: 

"The needle's eye that does supply the thread that runs so true. Many a beau have I let go, because I wanted you."

The paper always claims the thimble was given to my mother by my grandfather's mother, Ann E. Druva.  

I believe the thimble serves as a symbolic gesture in relation to the poem enclosed, because my mother was certainly no master sewer.  This is not the only piece of jewelry enclosed.  I also found a box with writing inside indicating she had also given my mother an opal pendant on her 18th birthday.  

It's so sad to think all that's left of this intimate connection are a few lines of cursive indicating these articles of jewelry served as gestures of affection.  And yet, all three generations are present; one providing the gift, one receiving, and the middle hoping to preserve the connection for generations to come.

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A Mountain of Olympic Skiing Insignia:

I've sifted through the armoire in its entirety and I found approximately a billion of these Olympic-esque skiing pins.  I am sure this also has geographic relevance, considering my mother's family resided in Colorado - home to the Colorado Rockies and many of America's ski playgrounds.  

I'm envisioning family trips to the mountains and an awkward wobble to the gift shop in ski boots to purchase more pins to add to the collection -  I wonder if my grandmother wore them one at a time or all at once  - who am I kidding, I've seen her ostentatious earrings.   It's not difficult to imagine donning four or more pins, taking in a ski competition -after all, the Olympic Training Complex is a mere half hour's drive from their home in Pueblo.  A proud young mother perched on the bleachers along with her small children bundled in layers of snow gear.  

While wearing them, she might have seen famous Olympic medal-winning athletes perform, or helped my mom or uncle maintain balance on skis.  Now they are left to reside in a plastic deli meat container in the bottom-most drawer of a four-legged armoire. 

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Elephant Bangle:

I had a friend a few years ago that spent her semester abroad in Senegal.   When she got home, she gave me a wallet that looked like it was made from some sort of lizard.  When I told her this, she informed me that she had bought three of these wallets for friends in a variety of colors.  She went on to tell me she had purchased them at a market that she only found out later, functions primarily off the black market  ...and this is what I think of when I look at these bangles.  I know very little about my grandfather's military service during World War Two, but I do know he was stationed for some time in India.   It was only after the service that he met my grandmother, so I assume these bangles were purchased there as a gift for his mother.  

I'm no expert on ivory, but I can see a small fracture in the bangle that circles the band, so I assume this is the real deal.   It's an intricately carved work of art, but for me, wearing it in public will ultimately lead to the same sheepish feeling I get every time I pull out my wallet to pay in front of a vegetarian or donate money toward animal rights.

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My Grandma's bling is blue - TURQUOISE: 

If I reach no other conclusion through examining these heaping piles of jewelry, it is that my grandmother must have thoroughly enjoyed clip-on earrings - and my God, did the woman have an affinity for turquoise.  But, you know, this fixation for the stone can be justified.  My grandmother was born and raised on a cattle ranch on the border of New Mexico and Texas during the Great Depression.  It was only after becoming a nurse that she relocated to Pueblo, Colorado and met my grandfather.  Knowing her and the prevalence of turquoise throughout the New Mexico area, I'd assume she carried a love for the stone from a very young age.    

As you can see, the ones I've chosen to include in this post are also accented with imitation pearls, which I'm pretty sure are cultivated by painting a light nacre over plastic beads - considering the mass number of little white flakes that litter the jewelry box lining.  I'd can picture her wearing these earrings with a button-down white blouse and brown skirt.  She also frequently wore scarfs as headbands wrapped around her short hair.  They almost had to go together.

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Things (and assumptions made) from my Grandmother's Jewelry Box:

I don't have very many pictures of my grandmother when she was younger.  I also don't have a mother to pass on her stories.  They passed away within years of each other and coincidentally, just around the time I was beginning to find interest in their many memories. Nearly a decade has passed since my grandmother's death and the contents of her jewelry armoire remain unexamined.  So, here we go:

I'll begin with her engagement ring.  With it, I found a small note in her handwriting.  "Engagement Ring to Albert William Druva, June 24, 1944".  Last week, I took the ring into a jewelry store and they sized it to my right-hand ring finger.  I intend to wear it every day.  I don't know what church they got married in, whether she cried during the ceremony or danced at the reception.  But I know he put this ring on her finger anticipating every detail of that day.

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Windows in the distant wall offer glimpses of the lives just behind them.  A stampede of boys pierce the revelation with wild screams, taunting each other on the plaza. Looking just beyond them, I wonder which of these boys will trade his sly smile for a brimmed hat, and what will become of the woman washing his high-waisted pants.