These pearls were my grandmother’s, then my mother’s and now mine. I don’t know if I ever heard how gramma came to them — a gift to her from her second husband perhaps, or something she treated herself to on her grand European tour? I do remember her wearing them and looking the epitome of glamorous with the furs, the silk headscarves worn just so and the heeled specatator pumps.
I was thrilled when my mother gave them to me sometime in my 40s. She took them back though, which was a bit crushing, and before they came to me again, on her death a few years ago, she’d had them restrung into two strands hanging from a rather beautiful emerald clasp.
I immediately had them restrung back as a single strand as my grandmother wore them, but kept the clasp.
They don’t get out enough — I don’t wear a lot of jewelry and they have a tendency to get caught on things when I bend over — but I love the way they glow and wink and ever so gently click in my fingers. I expect my mother and my grandmother did too.
One of my favourite things. OOMFT.