Stories Collected While Living in France
(Not someone but something.)
A quilt that my Grandmother made me when I was maybe eight years old. It had irregular squares and rectangles in cotton and silk, but probably rayon, from dresses from the 1920-40s.
I loved that quilt, passing the time tracing the patterns with my finger and imagining an entire world around the tiny fragments.
A tiny gold heart shaped locket that my Dad hand engraved with my name.
i have been thinking about this question all night- i think my birthstone ring that I put in my clear vinyl bag with the lavender flowers on it in the second grade -i had a matching rain coat in the same pattern and it was that plastic that if it brushed your leg on a freezing cold day it could leave a scratch mark-anyway….there was a hole in the bottom and bye bye birthstone ring-i prayed to St Anthony for years to find it alas it never was found by me – i hope if someone did find it that it was worn with love-
My diamond wedding ring that was stolen from my house years ago. Even though we are long divorced, I had designed it myself and truly loved it. Also, in the future I will learn to insure such objects.
A gold ring, from Russia, with the words “Jesus, my Saviour and my Protector” inscribed in Russian on it.
My youth, my health and my energy I miss the most
I loved this question
Hugs
A plastic clock that my dad bought and gave me when I was 5 years old.
I was sick with the measles at the time.
I loved that clock and that my very frugal father bought it for me to brighten my day.
A small blue enameled gold pendant bearing’MashAllah’ given to me by someone very special when I was in college with the accompanying wish that God always protect me. Despite my prayers, I never saw the medallion again, but Ifeel God has generously afforded me his protection throughout my life.
The Schwinn bicycle I bought with my babysitting money.
The diamond ring that my husband designed and had made with the diamonds from his deceased mother’s original wedding band. It was stolen from my purse when we were traveling in Vienna. It was dear to me in so many ways.
An emerald cut peridot ring with a gold band given to me by my grandmother. It was in my jewelry box and then it was not.
Maybe my youth!!
A small brass bell held with a rawhide leather string that my little mum gave me once rather than toss it away. It was one of a stringed set she got on a trip to Germany. It hung on my office door for thirty years. Each time a student entered or exited, the bell would ring and I would be reminded that “an angel got its wings.” Eventually that angel was my little mum so the tingle always reminded me of her. Two years ago, I had to pack up my office in a rush before leaving for summer and my office was demolished in a planned renovation. It wasn’t until I moved into my new office that fall that I realized there was no ding-a-ling when I shut my doir. My heart shattered when I realized what was lost in my hasty departure.
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