Katherine Nicolai

I'd kept my promise and got to be there on her birthday as she unwrapped it. I remember how quiet the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright, happy smile on her face. that we all beamed back at her.

I'd kept my promise and got to be there on her birthday as she unwrapped it. I remember how quiet the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright, happy smile on her face. that we all beamed back at her.

I'd kept my promise and got to be there on her birthday as she unwrapped it. I remember how quiet the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright, happy smile on her face. that we all beamed back at her.

She was a laugher, not a crier. And she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl, and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek. The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for the rest of her life, next to her tubes of lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume.

She was a laugher, not a crier. And she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl, and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek. The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for the rest of her life, next to her tubes of lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume.

She was a laugher, not a crier. And she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl, and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek. The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for the rest of her life, next to her tubes of lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume.

I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging, as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday night out with Grandpa. She'd picked out her favorite necklace and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I nosily looked over her shoulder as she did and saw a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her and Grandpa's hand. She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror.

I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging, as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday night out with Grandpa. She'd picked out her favorite necklace and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I nosily looked over her shoulder as she did and saw a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her and Grandpa's hand. She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror.

I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging, as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday night out with Grandpa. She'd picked out her favorite necklace and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I nosily looked over her shoulder as she did and saw a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her and Grandpa's hand. She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror.

She still had their love letters. When the box came to me, I'd gratefully found I could still smell a bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now it held my rings, my bracelets and necklaces. In the compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile, with a thin pin at its back that had been mended more than once.

She still had their love letters. When the box came to me, I'd gratefully found I could still smell a bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now it held my rings, my bracelets and necklaces. In the compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile, with a thin pin at its back that had been mended more than once.

She still had their love letters. When the box came to me, I'd gratefully found I could still smell a bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now it held my rings, my bracelets and necklaces. In the compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile, with a thin pin at its back that had been mended more than once.

On its face was a collection of bright red stones, circled with gold, in the shape of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels. I suspected none of them were real gems. They were probably polished glass, what they used to call paste. But they were precious to me. I was careful with what Grandma had passed on to me. But I wasn't afraid to wear her brooch.

On its face was a collection of bright red stones, circled with gold, in the shape of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels. I suspected none of them were real gems. They were probably polished glass, what they used to call paste. But they were precious to me. I was careful with what Grandma had passed on to me. But I wasn't afraid to wear her brooch.

On its face was a collection of bright red stones, circled with gold, in the shape of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels. I suspected none of them were real gems. They were probably polished glass, what they used to call paste. But they were precious to me. I was careful with what Grandma had passed on to me. But I wasn't afraid to wear her brooch.

I had her china, too, and used it nearly every day. Once, when we'd been drying dishes in her kitchen, and a slippery plate had slid out of my hands to crash into a million pieces on the black and white tiles of her floor, I turned a teary face up to her, and she caught my chin in her hand and kissed the tip of my nose, saying, Baby, it's a thing, not a person.

I had her china, too, and used it nearly every day. Once, when we'd been drying dishes in her kitchen, and a slippery plate had slid out of my hands to crash into a million pieces on the black and white tiles of her floor, I turned a teary face up to her, and she caught my chin in her hand and kissed the tip of my nose, saying, Baby, it's a thing, not a person.

I had her china, too, and used it nearly every day. Once, when we'd been drying dishes in her kitchen, and a slippery plate had slid out of my hands to crash into a million pieces on the black and white tiles of her floor, I turned a teary face up to her, and she caught my chin in her hand and kissed the tip of my nose, saying, Baby, it's a thing, not a person.

It made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned with what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks, I stop and ask myself, is it a thing or a person? And like her, I can usually laugh instead of cry. I'd pinned her ladybug onto the lapel of my jacket today, as I'd gotten ready to go out the door, just feeling the need to have her around me.

It made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned with what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks, I stop and ask myself, is it a thing or a person? And like her, I can usually laugh instead of cry. I'd pinned her ladybug onto the lapel of my jacket today, as I'd gotten ready to go out the door, just feeling the need to have her around me.