I keep telling myself that the generations of priceless jewelry that was so callously robbed from me – has no meaning. It is just stuff. It is baubles. I should let it go. I should forget and forgive.

And then weeks later a particular piece will come up in my mind and I will smile at its story. So many pieces had stories – they were fun – they were memory. And now someone has thieved me not just of my jewelry – but of the memories.

I think I saw my jewelry as a part of my dowry. It was that – big.   I had a lot!  I mean, my great-grandaddy was a professional gambler and apparently was known to take jewelry in lieu of casholla. There was even a set of dice – four antique ivory dice in a hard camel leather case. Rumor had it – they were loaded. Story. There was the sapphire ring that he supposedly won in a poker game in Russia. The story was like an old Kenny Rogers movie – ‘know when to hold em…”. Anyway. There were pieces given to me by my passed Auntiheistand who was my Godmother. She was an amazing woman, always smiling and laughing outloud, she enjoyed every single minute of her time on this earth. Amazing woman! Her husband was a four star general in the Army. And the funniest most endearing man you could ever meet! Genuine.

My paternal grandmother was also of military heritage and so she traveled the world – Indonesia, Siam, Hong Kong, it was the generation before everyone was sent to Germany. Germany became the go to after WWII. Almost like we still don’t trust them and want to make sure we have a presence, a handle on every movement every official makes – just in case.  I digress..

And then there was my ex-husband. We actually made a fair amount of jewelry with gemstones taken in lieu of cash during the real estate boom and bust in the 1980’s. So I had these really interesting pieces set in the 18k gold era – when that was the norm. I had rings and pendants and brooches, back in the day when everyone always wore – a brooch. A pillbox hat… Pearls. Some pretty cool pieces.

And then – well there was my dad’s Medal Of Honor. They took that too. And while I am going through the inventory filing for the insurance and they ask you to put a replacement value on each item, I got a bit stuck. How do you value your dad’s Medal of Honor?  I still haven’t turned in my inventory, somehow I think that by doing so I am giving up hope.

There was the gold Libra coin – because she and I and my mom were all Libra.

I had tie tacks that were my dads, cufflinks, things I will never be able to picture of replace.  But apparently it doesn’t much matter anyway because only scheduled items are actually reimbursed.  And that’s not something your insurance agent might propose.  But in my case should have been better handled.

I am naive by nature.  Some things – you can never change.

There are still umteen numbers of items that I simply can’t recall, too many generations and stuff I never wore, but always thought I could pass to a kid – or their spouse. A legacy changing hands – a baton if you will.  And while I continue to tell myself it was – nothing – I know it was ‘something’, but I still need to let it go.  I am obsessing to an extent.

Anymore, we as women are cubbied. Attitudes have changed. Extremes sometimes sabotage the very thing they attempt to reconcile. And that would be the case with women. My worth was what I could bring as assets. And now it is gone. Stolen. Capiche. Kaput. Vamoose. Gone.  And maybe – that’s the point.  If in fact he has taken this asset from me, and believes this is for my good, then I hope he realizes the ultimate consequence of this action.

Just sayin’…

So no, it wasn’t jewelry – but it was. It was priceless in its history. And now the stories associated with the pieces are lost – forgotten – shifts in the wind.

I still love to tell stories. Love to pass images and views with a lot of humor. The hurricane careening down the lake taking out boats and us hiding under the table with our gas lanterns… and then emerging to play Tripoli. It was over, and time was eh. We’d assess the damage – in the morning.

So, I suppose at this late stage, I will have to start from scratch and make entirely new stories – somehow, although I am hard pressed to find a good story to be had from jewelry bought at Charmin Charleys…

Just aint’ the same.