Flying in pink pearls, re-post

I wear pink pearls. I wear them all of the time except when I am running or in the pool. I wear them even when I wear red shoes. I wear them because my great aunt Corinne gave them to me. She is 91 years old. She bought them a very long time ago from a department store that I never heard of and that no longer exists. One day she simply went into the store and bought them with her very own money. End of story, she proudly says.

No man bought them for her. Not her brother, father, husband, or secret lover. I don’t know if she ever had a secret lover. I can imagine her having one after her last husband died, but she never said. I never asked. She tells me that it isn’t too late for her to get married again. She could if she wanted to. She is still breathtakingly beautiful. In fact we made a pact to stand up for each other when we decided to get married. She said we should get married this year. I am not so sure about me, but I can see it happening to her, if she wanted it. I don’t think she does, but one never knows.

Back to the pearls, she wanted them and she bought them. And now they are mine. I wear them proudly as a symbol of her passing the torch of empowerment in flight to me. That is a small measure of my inheritance from her. The rest is too numerous to describe. I am truly grateful for her courage to fly and for her continued flight at a different altitude, but just as sassy, just as proud, just as beautiful, and just as free. Exactly how I want to be.