Legacy
As my daughter held tight to my necklaces yesterday watching the old timey cars go by for the annual Fourth of July Parade, I couldn’t help but think of the legacy we’re leaving for her.
I went MIA for a few weeks here, but I promise it was with good reason. I wrote a few words while we were away, and after you read them, I hope you’ll understand why.
This place. Westport Harbor, Massachusetts. My husband grew up coming here, spending weeks upon weeks running barefoot through the grass and sand. Digging for clams, spotting sea glass on the shore, watching lobsters dance on the kitchen floor before dousing them in buttah at dinnertime. I was lucky enough to marry into it. And now our daughter will hopefully get to form some of the same memories as her dad, grandfather, and great grandfather. Shucking fresh corn on the porch, collecting shells and rocks on the beach, skipping rocks in the pond, ice cream at woods, the Fourth of July parade. As my daughter held tight to my necklaces yesterday watching the old timey cars go by for the annual Fourth of July Parade, I couldn’t help but think of the legacy we’re leaving for her. Worldwide but also in our own home. What will she remember from these summer trips? What items will hold sentimental weight to her, to her children? The necklace stack I wear daily with her and her dad’s initials on it? The bangle I wear when I want to feel more put together? The way the air smells first thing in the morning when the mist covers the pond? Or the exasperated, “fine, just get in the bed with us” at midnight?
It warms my heart each time I feel her latch onto my charms. I’ve noticed she does it when she feels a bit overwhelmed in a crowd (like the parade), and my deepest wish is that this small thing can bring her comfort. The little tink of the charms, the jingle of my bangles - these are the sounds I hope she remembers with fondness as she grows. Like how I always remember the smell of my mom’s perfume before she and my dad went out for a night. Or the way my dad always took one big deep breath and looked us in the eyes before he had something important to say. The diamond necklace my mom always wore growing up, every single day. It was fancier than an everyday necklace, but I love that she wore it daily anyway. Because my dad gave it to her, and it mattered to her, and she never needed a special occasion to put it on.
There are pieces in my jewelry box given to me by my grandmother, worn on my wedding day, that I dream of passing on to my daughter on hers. There are pieces I’ve created for myself that remind me of my strength and resilience and ability to freaking do this thing, and I hope that when I pass those on, they’ll give my daughter some of the same oomph when she puts them on. My mom’s mom didn’t leave much jewelry behind, but damn if she didn’t still leave a legacy. Just yesterday, I was having trouble opening a jar, and I remembered how Mimi used to do it (bang the blunt side of a knife all the way around the lid to loosen then POP, comes right off). Every time I look at a plate of food full of every color, I smile and think of Mimi. There’s a velvet blue sitting chair and a certain smell that I can’t quite capture in my mind that will always bring me back to her little apartment down the road from us. She owned a gorgeous blue car with baby blue interior that matched that chair, too. Maybe that’s why I love that shade of blue so much.
What will you be remembered for? What memories do you have attached to sentimental items? If you’re looking to begin your legacy, we’re here. One of my favorite pieces that I wear constantly is my Wavy Bangle. Second is my necklace stack pendants (the wavy disc, scallop diamond, and dots diamond), and my third is the birch cigar band ring. If you want some guidance choosing your first piece or for a special little something, leave me a comment or send me an email. I’d love to help start your legacy.
Warmly,
Mary Frances
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