January 1, 2012
Dear Emily,
Today I wore my grandmother’s gold bracelet to church. My grandmother, Jimmie Floyd Ogilvie, gave it to me when I was fifteen. Her father, James Floyd, had given her the bracelet in 1907 for her 12th birthday. Her initials “J F” are engraved on the top in a beautiful script. I always thought it was unique that my grandmother’s name was Jimmie…Jimmie is usually a boy’s name… but my great-grandfather had wanted a boy so he gave her the name he had planned for a boy…Jimmie…after himself. Grandmama didn’t have much jewelry…she was not the kind of person to care about things like that, but she treasured that bracelet, and so do I.
I adored my grandmother. When I was growing up, I tried to spend as much time as possible at Grandmama’s house. She was always there. The only places she went were to the beauty shop on Friday and to church on Sunday; otherwise, she was at home taking care of my invalid grandfather, cooking for farm hands, and tending to her flowers. She was content. I know that kind of life probably sounds boring to you, but Grandmama was far from boring. She shared with me fascinating stories about her childhood. Grandmama was only nine when her mother died, but she assumed the responsibility of rearing her five other sibilings. Other stories were about my daddy and his three brothers. Grandmama had four sons in five years so there was never a dull moment. Some of her most interesting stories were about the years that my grandfather was county sheriff. During that time, they left the farm with a caretaker and moved to Lewisburg to live at the jail where Grandmama cooked for the prisoners!
When I wear her bracelet, I’m not wearing just a piece of antique jewelry…I’m wearing a storehouse of memories. Mine and hers. You will never meet her. You will never experience what a sweet, loving, kind, and generous person she was. But you will know her stories, and someday, Emily, you also will wear her bracelet, and you too will remember.
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