MY MOTHER'S OPAL RING
Invited by the jewelers, Jack and Ava we were dining at Commander's Palace. My husband of the time, Richard was flirting with Ava. That was nothing new, I was uneasily resigned to his idiotic alcohol steeped behavior. The day was balmy, we were seated on the lovely garden patio. The food was the best cuisine in food city. I savored crab bisque followed by bread pudding with a luscious sauce. As we waited for the check, Jack complimented me on my ring and asked to see it.
That opal entranced me. I would gaze into the stone and my imagination would see in the depths of the jewel an aqua and peach colored world. My mind is subject to flights of fantasy, visions, dreams, zoning out, I get a lot of channels.
My father had gifted the ring to my mother way back in the day, maybe the 50's.
I worked off the ring and let Jack look at it. He said that it was a beautiful stone, but it was dirty and would look better with a careful professional cleaning.
It would look even better! Thirty years of grime gone. That sounded good to me.
DUH!
A few days later, over the phone (the avocado green kind that hung on the kitchen wall back in the 80's) Jack said that the Australian opal was high quality and deserved to be surrounded by diamonds instead of zircons.
A few more days later, he called to say that the ring had been stolen by one of their workers. He was so sorry, they would make another ring, just for me, just like my opal.
He delivered the ring to my house. It was pretty. It fit my finger. I wore it a few times but soon lost it. I suspect that the opal was man made, not the natural Australian opal of my "real" ring.
I lost the new ring. It did not enchant me. I carelessly misplaced the pretty new ring. But, the old jewel remains with me in my mind. The colors, the aqua and peach colors with a bit of grey for depth, still show up in my paintings, as you can see in the pictures posted here.
Gold Ribbon, Opal
digital, archival print, 2019
Dancer, Opal
digital, archival print, about 2017
No comments:
Post a Comment