Beads of a Wise Woman

My life has become a series of bizarre co-incidences. I won't post the boring details, but it is all good - the flow is a positive one, if slightly weird.

The latest is within this post. This evening I have been sitting with an idea tumbling and tossing on the stream of my consciousness. And then as I was brewing on the concept, up pops this link in my browser:

Maxabella Loves... Bling on love on the big day.

The perfect blog hop to bring it to fruition.

My mother's beads. Today I wore my mother's beads. I feel her close to me when I wear them, she shadows my moves, smiles to see a little of her decorum and elegance rubbing off on her rambunctious daughter.

They are like her: stunningly beautiful, elegant, revealing more and more depth with every glance. I bought these for her in a little antique shop at the bottom of our mountain. Angel's it was aptly named. Hand-painted venetian glass beads. Fit for a queen, perfect for my queen.

She laughed when I presented them to her, shook her head and told me I was incorrigable. "I thought I said no more jewellery?"

"No, you said no more scarves or brooches. You said nothing about beads."

We both giggled at that. Then she lifted them to the light, straining to see the detailed fine work, revelling in their beauty. And smiled. "Thank you."

"You are welcome Mumma. They reminded me of you."

Today I wore my mother's beads. People smiled, drew closer, breathed in awe at the richness of their splendour. And I could feel her warmth surrounding me, wrapping me in her love, always.