Pearls

 

Growing up in middle class Massachusetts, to own a pearl necklace was almost a law for all women. Whether they were found in some unsuspecting oyster at sea or cultured or even paste, depended on the income of the husbands.

These pearls could be worn for special occasions, but many women wore them regularly with their matching sweater sets. The weave on the sweaters was so tiny, that both by feel and sight, they could be mistaken for cloth.

The sweater sets were usually a short sleeve pullover and its matching cardigan. The popular colors were green, blue, black, brown, beige, yellow. I don't remember ever seeing a red set.

When my daughter was born, my mother started her with an anniversary pearl necklace, a golden chain with five tiny pearls. The idea was on every important date we would add a pearl.

Our jeweler was Mr. Hershey, a tall man with a never-ending smile, a talent for fixing watches besides offering beautiful jewelry. He also kept my secret when I bought wedding rings for my planned elopement. Fortunately, my mother never asked. I would have hated to blow his cover.

For some reason my mother never bought another pearl for my daughter's necklace. In the first few years of my daughter's life, money was not available for pearls, even tiny ones. Somewhere in one of my many moves, the original necklace disappeared.

My daughter is not the pearl-wearing type. I can't imagine her in a matching sweater set unless it was to a period-costume party, which I don't imagine her going to either. 

I do not have a pearl necklace. I do have a pair of beautiful black pearl earrings. 

Times change.