Charmed life

When I was a little girl I rarely got a chance to look in my mother's big wooden jewelry box. But once in a while she'd show me something very precious: her charm bracelet. I was mesmerized by the stories I was certain each charm represented. Some she'd share with me, some she wouldn't.

Each Christmas I asked for a bracelet of my own. After losing my felt Brownie beanie in the rain, all of my books on the first day of seventh grade and my post-braces retainer, I realize that my parents and Santa had probably not listened to my incessant begging for a good reason.

Eventually, some time before my 30th birthday and well after I had learned to keep up with my belongings, my wishes were granted and I was given a bracelet of my own, with three charms: a telephone, an angel and a pencil. I come from a long line of talkers, some of which prefer the telephone, so I assume that's why she chose it. The angel I am certain was representative of one of my favorite books, "The Littlest Angel" and the pencil was a salute to my career, at that time, as a newspaper reporter.

I've since added lots of charms to my bracelet including traffic signals, pine cones, airplaces, birthday cakes and horseshoes. Each one marks a moment in time, a special occasion, a particular memory, a memorable trip, a new hobby or interest. . .

In all honesty I rarely wear it, it makes a bit of a racket and is pretty heavy. I also lost it not long ago the the depths of a couch while visiting friends. Luckily they recovered it and it made its way safely back to my box of jewelry.

I have had two charms sliding around in my top drawer for some time, awaiting their place on the bracelet and today I finally stopped by the jeweler's to have them secured to the the links. I couldn't help but to turn it round and round in my hand, remembering each one, recalling the significance. And it reminded me of the mysteries that my mother's version held. . . I was glad that I had my own secrets tucked away on a silver bracelet of my own.