Wednesday – The Barmaid's Earrings
Jun. 18th, 2008 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about how an object's value increases from a small dollar amount to priceless when it has a good story to go with it. I came into the possession of several such objects this weekend.
Take, for example, the pair of earrings that my Aunt Jo gave me. They are small pearl stud earrings, circa 1950. They are a tiny luxury, but a luxury even I could afford to buy for myself if I wanted to. At least, they were until she told me where they came from. Now there is no way I could ever afford such earrings. They are a treasure handed from one hard working woman to another, and finally passed along to me wrapped in a priceless story.
"Here, I want you to have these earrings. I'm not sure, but I think they're real. At least, I was told they were real when they were given to me. And this necklace, too. It might be real, also, but I don't know. I think they are." My elderly aunt handed me a double stranded choker. I could tell at a glance that the pearls on the necklace were not real, because in places the coating was coming off of the glass on some of the beads. Nevertheless, I have a soft spot for vintage costume jewelry, which they obviously were, so this didn't bother me. The earrings looked different, though. They showed no such signs of wear to their surface. Modern stud pearl earrings all seem to have the posts drilled into the back, but these were in settings like you usually see on diamonds, with a circle of tiny arms gripping them around the sides.
"Let me tell you where I got these earrings," my aunt said. "When I was just starting out as a nurse, we had a barmaid come into the hospital. She'd been dancing on top of a table, and she fell off and broke her leg. Now, me, I didn't know any better, so I just treated her like anybody else. You know, I was nice to her and took care of her like I did all my patients." Apparently, not all the nurses did. They were respectable career women, and the barmaid was not.
"Anyway, she came back to the hospital later on and asked for me. She hands me this box and says, 'Here, I want you to have these.' She said one of the men who came to her bar had given them to her. He sent them all the way from Hawaii, and that they were real pearls. The hospital had rules about this kind of thing, though. I told her thank you, but I wasn't able to accept them, and I gave them back to her."
"But a week later they came in the mail for me, so I wound up with them anyway," my aunt said with a beaming smile. "Now I want you to have them."
"They're beautiful," I said, "And with a story like that to go with them, how could I say no?"
"How could you?" My aunt asked. "Doesn't the story just make them that much better?" It really did.
When I got home that evening with the trunk of my car loaded with treasures, including her wedding china, my grandmother's quilt, and an antique carnival glass butter dish, I took out the little jewelry box and looked at the earring. The tale of where they came from had already convinced of their worth, but I did something that I felt too self conscious to do in front of my aunt: I gently scraped one of the pearls across the surface of my front tooth. A glass pearl will feel smooth against your tooth, but an actual pearl feels as gritty as the sand the oyster used to make it.
I am pleased to report that the barmaid's gentleman friend did not lie to her.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about how an object's value increases from a small dollar amount to priceless when it has a good story to go with it. I came into the possession of several such objects this weekend.
Take, for example, the pair of earrings that my Aunt Jo gave me. They are small pearl stud earrings, circa 1950. They are a tiny luxury, but a luxury even I could afford to buy for myself if I wanted to. At least, they were until she told me where they came from. Now there is no way I could ever afford such earrings. They are a treasure handed from one hard working woman to another, and finally passed along to me wrapped in a priceless story.
"Here, I want you to have these earrings. I'm not sure, but I think they're real. At least, I was told they were real when they were given to me. And this necklace, too. It might be real, also, but I don't know. I think they are." My elderly aunt handed me a double stranded choker. I could tell at a glance that the pearls on the necklace were not real, because in places the coating was coming off of the glass on some of the beads. Nevertheless, I have a soft spot for vintage costume jewelry, which they obviously were, so this didn't bother me. The earrings looked different, though. They showed no such signs of wear to their surface. Modern stud pearl earrings all seem to have the posts drilled into the back, but these were in settings like you usually see on diamonds, with a circle of tiny arms gripping them around the sides.
"Let me tell you where I got these earrings," my aunt said. "When I was just starting out as a nurse, we had a barmaid come into the hospital. She'd been dancing on top of a table, and she fell off and broke her leg. Now, me, I didn't know any better, so I just treated her like anybody else. You know, I was nice to her and took care of her like I did all my patients." Apparently, not all the nurses did. They were respectable career women, and the barmaid was not.
"Anyway, she came back to the hospital later on and asked for me. She hands me this box and says, 'Here, I want you to have these.' She said one of the men who came to her bar had given them to her. He sent them all the way from Hawaii, and that they were real pearls. The hospital had rules about this kind of thing, though. I told her thank you, but I wasn't able to accept them, and I gave them back to her."
"But a week later they came in the mail for me, so I wound up with them anyway," my aunt said with a beaming smile. "Now I want you to have them."
"They're beautiful," I said, "And with a story like that to go with them, how could I say no?"
"How could you?" My aunt asked. "Doesn't the story just make them that much better?" It really did.
When I got home that evening with the trunk of my car loaded with treasures, including her wedding china, my grandmother's quilt, and an antique carnival glass butter dish, I took out the little jewelry box and looked at the earring. The tale of where they came from had already convinced of their worth, but I did something that I felt too self conscious to do in front of my aunt: I gently scraped one of the pearls across the surface of my front tooth. A glass pearl will feel smooth against your tooth, but an actual pearl feels as gritty as the sand the oyster used to make it.
I am pleased to report that the barmaid's gentleman friend did not lie to her.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
did not lie to her.
Date: 2008-06-18 08:54 pm (UTC)Re: did not lie to her.
Date: 2008-06-19 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 04:34 pm (UTC)Crafty
Date: 2008-06-19 02:16 pm (UTC)Re: Crafty
Date: 2008-06-19 02:27 pm (UTC)Re: Crafty
Date: 2008-06-19 02:48 pm (UTC)Oh, and yes, it's true. I can send you a pictures of the earring, necklace, and wedding china, if you want to see them. ^_^