Bling: Reflections on Love Giving

Bling: Reflections on Love Giving;

Every ring has a story; A's  YES moment was celebrated with a diamond.  A's came from DePrisco Jewelers, Washington St. Boston.   http://deprisco.com/
Most diamonds come with appraisals. A, ’s came with blessings.  Ms Donna DePrisco reportedly opened her store early to help J settle on a diamond for my daughter A. She  assured  me "what a good young man J is" as  he could listen and learn. Ms DePrisco is as spiritual as she is spirited.

  My engineer-student daughter A. may have had allotropes of carbon on her mind  last winter when she  first steered her boyfriend into DePrisco Jewelers.  I think they went to buy  a wedding gift for friends, or maybe a new chain for his religious metal.     A.  and her sisters know the  DePrisco Jewelers shop and esteem Ms Donna DePrisco as an astute businesswoman  with a musician’s heart.  Almost a decade ago,  A. was a Cadette Girl Scout helping her sister's Brownie Girl Scout troop on  a tour of DePrisco's Jewelers as they completed the Jewelry Badge.   The Girl Scouts scheduled a meeting with Boston's gracious Princess of Diamonds. DePrisco Jewelers is The Hub’s hub of diamond craftsmanship, art, and international trade.  Ms DePrisco taught the girls the 4 C' plus four:   (color carat, clarity, and cut plus certification, cost, care and comfort).  For their jewelry craft project, the girls had threaded   red white and blue beads onto safety pins creating  American flag broaches; Donna and her team graciously accepted them.  She embraced the Girl Scout tradition of Swaps -  tokens of remembrance shared when Girl Scouts get together;   she gave each girl a silver charm bracelet!

My Girl Scout name is Ducky. Donna  explained to the girls, “When important days happen in Ducky's life, Ducky’s husband sometimes gives her jewelry".   Indeed my wedding ring marks me as a married woman; on my wedding day my life took on new definition as a Catholic wife.  I have only taken the ring off for surgery-   either to hold the knife or go under the knife.  To commemorate one of our wedding anniversaries,  my husband gave me a new diamond: "one we could both see".  Instead of flowers when our fourth daughter was born, George gave me a ring with five magnificent diamonds.  It's true; these tokens are precious traditions of love giving.

The diamond has enduring qualities; to George and me, the the diamond   J gave A sealed their betrothal with something of value.  A few years ago while visiting the National Archaeological Museum ( Εθνικό Αρχαιολογικό Μουσείο) in Athens, amid the cyclads, the mask of Agamemnon, and the   Antikythera Ephebe  is some woman's  diamond jewelry.  By tradition, diamonds were thought by ancient  Greeks to be tears of the gods. These diadems, earrings, pendants and pins  were unearthed from a 1600 - 1500 BC grave of a woman.   Even her bones have turned to dust, and all that remains of his woman is her jewelry -  yet I know her elegant style.

The word "diamond" comes from the Greek adamas, "I tame" or "I subdue." Greek and Latin writers  acknowledge it as  the stone of impenetrable hardness; herein lies the etimology  of the word adamant.
Thus, no  irony is  lost on my daughters and me -  as we are mesmirized by this stone.
Some Roman writers refer to diamas   as “splinters falling from the heavenly sky”.   My diamonds remind me of the night sky in Sweden,  Maine, or the   night sky reflected on  kettle pond outside our Cape Cod hide away.  My haiku:

Skipped rocks skid on water.
  Like diamonds cut from desire,
     Soft moonbeams   shatter.

Madonna proclaimed: “ I am a material girl in a material world”;  A.  and I are too.   I love the saga of  diamonds:    billions of years old and  formed 100 miles below the earth's mantle, the diamonds  were thrust upward in volcanic eruptions, mined in rough stone,  then cut and polished.  Then our beloveds gave us something ancient and perfect from deep in the earth  - as a token of love.

During my long days at the office, my diamonds adorn on my hands. I use my hands to help diagnose my patients, to record our encounters, to soothe the sick,  and  to communicate my concern. When I entered the field of medicine, my  nurse cousin Nancy told me " every patient will  know from your  touch if your  hand wants to be there".   My hands are healing hands. And they are adorned by the diamonds that symbolize the love and commitment George has for me - and I have for him. For us, the YES moments have been YES, and yes and yes.

The Proposal

The German shepherd awoke us at sunrise on that July Sunday morning. Our  Cape Cod hideaway had that Sunday morning  sleepy peace, so rare  in a house filled with college and graduate school young adults. George and I went to mass together at Our Lady of Victory, sharing  rare  moments alone.
As we pulled back into the garage,  and  I noticed  bikes missing.  As  one who prides herself in knowing everything going on in my own household,   I was shocked; this meant all the kids were not at home! 

A.  and her boyfriend J.  were off on an early morning bike ride;  and my husband was in on the deal!   It seems George was awaiting a call to go to pick them up at SeaView Beach in Yarmouth. Why I asked? Because, they reasoned, A wouldn't want to bike back after J.  proposed to her!

Wow! My baby a bride!

Couldn't I see it coming?   It had been a fast trip from "Mom, I like him but I really don't want a serious relationship right now", to "Mom,  do we have chocolate chips, I'm baking cookies for J."
The next thing I knew, her sentences started to begin with: " J says...";
then: 'J thinks.." ;
then " J and I  are planning to...".

I went with George to pick up the afianced pair and their bikes  from the beach that morning. Clammers raked the shallows with  their floating baskets, oblivious to the momentous happenings. But mother nature knew;  her waves served up a million diamonds on the  rough surf  as if celebrating the the meaning of the white gold diamond  ring   sparkling on A's left hand.  But  it was the shining eyes of  those two that really lit up the universe. Never had I seen my daughter  happier.  Her diamond dazzling in the morning sunshine, we exchanged hugs, welcomes, and congratulations.

Thinking back, my shock was less about her and more about me. A.  is my little girl. She is a beloved middle daughter in full  household of   sisters. We are  the adventure-filled  twenty first century version of  Little Women.  And, I am Mommy.  I still worry if she has enough socks so she only has to do her laundry every two weeks. I want to know if she has enough notebooks and pencils for the semester;  does she wear  gloves  so her fingers don't freeze in Boston's January. Does  she drink enough milk to grow strong bones and prevent osteoporosis. Are her roommates - now apartment mates, compatible?  I still want to be her Mommy.
Even though my daughter has her own apartment, she still comes home and is part of my household.  This will change.  Her marriage means she will be the woman of her own household. She will be J's wife. She and he will be a family. My influence, as fleeting as it has been since she was sixteen, will be timed out. She will listen to him; this is as it should be. But  I wasn't prepared for this yet.
It seems that the last little vestige of  Mommying I have left is  to help plan HER wedding.

Actually,  what I never knew is that  A had a real jump on wedding planning.  When I was starting an internal medicine practice, she was playing bride doll Barbie. While I was studying for Internal Medicine Boards, she was watching "The wedding planner" on TV.  As  I was working extra  clinic hours to come up with her  college room and board, she was watching  wedding couples proceed  out of Marsh Chapel. During  church choir  rehearsals while  I  was  the soprano trying to stay on key,  A was  the alto interpreting  how the organ would sound for  HER Wedding  processional. HER Wedding took me  by surprise, but she has been preparing for HER Wedding her whole life.