My Grandmother Frances, came to America from the Azores. Her trunk was filled with simple necessities; a linen towel, a few chemises, a hair brush, a dress in cotton and one in wool, probably an apron, certainly a rosary, and a biscuit porcelain angel. 
I remember as a child, I would secretly climb onto my Grandparent’s bed, reach my hand into the small shell, that the angel held, to touch the holy water that she carried. I would bless myself, as my Grandparents did every evening before they went to bed.
When I left America, to come to live in France, my Grandmother lovingly gave me her angel.
photo: My Grandmother’s angel, click on it to enlarge.
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