The night after my father died I received a call from an older first cousin, trying to console me. He remembered that I was a serious little girl who LOVED jewelry. Funny, but not a surprising combination, since my maternal grandfather owned a jewelry store in Toledo, OH and when we visited, I would press my nose against the glass display cases, looking longingly at the shiny objects inside. I was the youngest grandchild on both sides of the family and Grandpa gave me my first diamond ring, a little circlet of gold with a tiny diamond chip in it, when I was three. Another, slightly larger ring came two years later. They were only worn on dressy occasions, but I loved them dearly. A dainty gold watch also came forth once I could tell time. It has my name engraved on the back of the face.

If you look closely at the lettering on the ring box, you can still see “S.B. Stein and Son Jewelers”; my grandfather and uncle. who always worked for Grandpa, and took over the store after my grandfather’s death in 1964.

When I was a young teenager, my grandmother “lost” her pearl earrings so she could get another pair and give the spare to me. Apparently neither of us had pierced ears (my mother wouldn’t let me pierce mine in 8th grade when all my friends were; after that I never bothered), as the earrings she gave me were “french screws” which I liked, as I could adjust them to just the right tension to keep comfortably on my ear lobes. I cherish those and wore those as my “something old” on my wedding day.

Through the years, as my many aunts traveled the world, they brought me back colorful beads and enamel pins from various countries of the world. I still have many in my “childhood” jewelry box and always enjoyed wearing the various gifts with my good outfits to Temple or when we went out to a nice dinner on vacation.

When I was Confirmed, in 10th grade, my grandmother was alive, but sinking into dementia. In her name, an aunt bought me a lovely ring with a heart-shaped garnet set with a tiny diamond beneath it. I loved that ring and wore it for dressy occasions until I left for college, when I began wearing it all the time. The following photo is on the day of my Confirmation. My parents had a large party in our house for all our relatives and friends. I’m showing the ring to my Uncle Joe who ran the jewelry store in Toledo, OH (he and other family members came in from out of town for the occasion).

My husband, Dan, gave me a beautiful oval diamond as a 21st birthday present and to celebrate our engagement. The central stone was set with a small diamond on with side. The wedding band was white gold with three tiny diamonds (matching the side diamonds from the engagement ring) and I wore them together. Eventually, I reset the engagement stone with sapphires on either side. The pronged setting made it more problematic to wear for everyday, and I got a double row of small diamonds as the wedding band. They were both in a jewelry roll in my night stand when a heroin addict broke into our Martha’s Vineyard home 8 years ago and stole them, along with a few other, less expensive (and not insured) pieces of jewelry, as well as some medication. I got back all the jewelry except for the engagement diamond, which the thief sold in Boston. So I no longer have the original stone; that 21st birthday present. Insurance money paid for a larger one and the setting I picked allows me to comfortably wear it all the time, which I now do.

When my kids were young, I wore a Swatch, as my hands and arms were frequently in water, and they loved to teeth on the plastic watch band. When we started spending so much time on the beach, about 22 years ago, I wanted a good looking water-proof watch and wound up (due to my husband’s prodding) with a Cartier watch, which I wear every day.

Thirty years ago, I visited my mother in suburban Detroit. I drove her car and, while pulling it into the carport, I dinged the side-view mirror. We were both upset and I offered to pay for it. She told me to bring her something from Paris instead, as I was going there on vacation the next month. I bought her the Chanel purse you will see in the next photo. Upon my return, I called her from my office to tell her. I thought she’d be thrilled, but her response was, “I don’t need another evening bag”, having no idea what type of purse I’d bought for her, or how functional it was (or how valuable). She was a tough customer. She usually wore navy, so didn’t often wear black accessories. Even that was a problem for her. Occasionally, after I moved her near me, I asked if I could borrow it. She allowed it once — the day of David’s bar mitvah. She would not allow me to borrow it again the day of Jeffrey’s. I don’t know why. Eventually, as you see, I inherited it.

Years ago, I bought myself the one pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps shown in the photo. They are remarkably comfy and really do make my legs look nice. I’ve had them a long time, wore them to Jeffrey’s bar mitzvah, though had them before and still think they look great.

I bought the Hermes scarf seen in the Featured photo while on a trip to Paris (and the Riviera) while pregnant with David. I couldn’t try on any clothing when 6 months pregnant, but a beautiful silk scarf was just the ticket! It was my go-to accessory for the next few years. The pink one with the shoe and purse was another gift for my mother. She treasured that and looked for dresses to accessorize with it. I also bought one for my mother-in-law on that trip to Paris, but don’t know what happened to that one.

I continue with my love affair with jewelry, but mostly inexpensive pieces; colored beads, interesting pins, nice necklaces. I tend not to wear large pieces or precious stones. I have bought some interesting things at the gift shop at the Boston Museum of Fine Art. With my small frame, I am careful not to be overwhelmed by what I wear. But I do love what I own and I still love to look at anything that sparkles.

Oh, it was so great at the beginning. My husband brought home the machine from his office and we went off the the video rental store and wandered the aisles like kids in a candy store. On a weekend, after the kids went to bed, we’d watch movies back to back, remembering to “be kind and rewind.” He would go back on Monday with the VCR, blinking in the sunlight after staring at the screen for hours on Saturday and Sunday. It was so new and exciting, especially for parents of young kids who had to pay for a sitter when we wanted to see movies on the big screen.

And then someone (me) would have to get in the car and return the tapes we’d rented. If you were late, there might be a fee. Sometimes we were late. And sometimes, we may have put the tape in the wrong box. The tapes could be defective, and so there went date night, or you had to deal with disappointed kids who had a bowl of popcorn and high expectations about seeing Duck Soup or The Wizard of Oz.

 

When videos began phasing out, we realized we no longer needed the machine that played them. The rise of the DVD meant making more room on the shelves for those skinny boxes. Adios, VCR.

I think the last video rental store in my neighborhood is now a bank or something. Sure, you can rent a DVD Red Box at the grocery store, but why would you? Everything I could possibly want to see (or just about everything) is readily available on Amazon Prime, Netflix and others. making the choices both easier and harder.

I don’t miss the old tapes, or  the renting and returning and all the time it took to find just the right thing to watch when the kids were quarantined with chicken pox, or the slacker teens in their logo t-shirts who sat behind the counter, judging your movie choices. Nope, it was good riddance to all of that.

 

For some pictures, it was easy to say good riddance. But the photos of people I love – that’s another matter.
Read More

I love parties! I almost always have a great time at them. Certainly college parties are among my fondest memories of those years. But for me, the good ones don’t seem to make for interesting stories. So here’s a story about the worst party of my life.

1966. The drinking age in New Jersey was 21, but at that time in New York it was only 18. From my high school it was less than twenty miles to Manhattan through the Lincoln Tunnel. So it was easy for seniors who were already 18 to drive into the City, buy huge quantities of alcoholic beverages and bring them back. It was quite a business, although I don’t think they made a profit, just charging the actual price of the merchandise.

I only patronized this business once. It was in the spring of my sophomore year, and there was a big party, hosted by a senior. I’m not sure if it was for a specific occasion, but for some reason a number of sophomores, including me, were invited. On Friday mornings we had an all-school assembly, which everyone was required to attend. We were seated by class in ascending order of age, with the seventh graders in the front rows of the auditorium and the seniors way at the back. On this particular Friday, the day of the party, when the principal asked for announcements, one of the seniors stood up and said he would be taking orders in such-and-such place after the assembly. No one asked what the orders were for. The administration and younger kids had no idea. The older kids knew it was for a New York liquor run.

So I went to the designated place and ordered a six-pack of beer. I don’t know why I chose beer, maybe it was the cheapest item on their list. I had never tasted beer and didn’t know anything about it. At my parents’ parties for their friends, they served whiskey sours and Tom Collinses, which I was allowed to taste, and both of which I liked. But of course mixed drinks were not on the menu here.

That evening my mother drove me to the party. She was so trusting, I don’t think she even asked whether there were going to be any adults there. (There were not.) I had arranged to spend the night at my friend Marsha’s house, so I wouldn’t have to worry about facing my parents if I was drunk.

I am amazed as I recall the fact that I actually drank five of the six cans of beer in my sixpack over the course of a couple of hours. I was fourteen years old and probably weighed around 90 pounds. I got really blitzed. There was a boy I liked, a senior, who I knew from playing bridge, and I was hoping to get his attention at the party. But there was another girl who was a senior, who decided to go after him that night. She wasn’t all that interested in him, she told me later, but prom was coming up, and he seemed like her best option for a prom date. The two of them ended up going off into a corner together, and I was beyond upset. Being drunk, I had no inhibitions about expressing my displeasure. I cried and threw a tantrum, saying it wasn’t fair, and he was supposed to be mine. I even said she shouldn’t get him because she wasn’t Jewish (he was), not that anybody really cared about that. I don’t actually know how loud I was, it may have been a relatively quiet tantrum. Luckily, I didn’t hear anyone talking about it at school the following week, so maybe only my friends heard me.

At some point Marsha’s mother came and picked us up and took us both back to her house. I spent most of the night throwing up.

I never did go out with that senior boy I liked. The other girl went to the prom with him, but they didn’t date any more after that, and then they both graduated and went off to different colleges and never saw each other again.

I didn’t drink beer again for at least the next thirty years. It’s still not my beverage of choice most of the time. Generally I only consider it with Mexican food, and then it has to be Mexican beer. With lemon.