A Tarnished Piece of Jewelry

I have no clue how I ended up with this treasured piece of jewelry-a pin shaped like a pony that belonged to my grandmother. I remember her wearing it on special occasions-more often than not pinned to a gray/black design knit dress. Besides her wedding band, there were only two other pieces of jewelry I remember her wearing. One was another pin-a small swirl of silver circles entwined about each other and the other-a small, round silver watch (minus the band) on a chain that she wore around her neck-again, on special occasions.

Now tarnished and frail, I keep the pin inside a box underneath some cotton batten in my dresser drawer. I remember the pin from back when my grandparents lived in their farmhouse. My grandmother kept it on top of an old dresser in her bedroom. There were no diamonds or rubies sitting next to it. No array of rings or endless strings of pearls. That speaks volumes about the woman with the little pony pin. Even if she could have afforded all the shiny bobbles, she wouldn't have bothered with them. She worked hard every day-using her hands to do endless tasks. She wore many hats. None required shiny bobbles.

Funny what ends up meaning more than other things that cost a hefty sum. Things like kids' artwork and school papers and hand-scribbled cards and ticket stubs and photos. I have an old mason jar sitting on a shelf in the kitchen. It's stuffed with stones and feathers and pine cones and leaves and twigs and acorns and who knows what else. Every little thing in that jar has a memory attached to it. Each little thing in that jar is priceless-just like my grandmother's little pony pin-now tarnished and frail.