I had a favorite blouse I was going to wear to church today. It’s a cheerful reddish-plum color and I was looking forward to it.
I could not find it this morning for the life of me. Not in the closet? Not in the ironing. So strange. I searched both places multiple times wondering what on earth was wrong with me that something so obvious could somehow just not be found like that.
Eh. I gave up and wore something else. Something in a deep teal blue. (I took a photo to show you but the blog ate it.)
Something that…hey, yes, definitely matched the lapis and sterling necklace Frances Begay made me a number of years ago. I realized in surprise as I took it out that I hadn’t worn it in several months despite how very much I like it. This other blouse was the perfect thing to wear it with. Well then.
There was a new face at church, there just for the day as it turned out, a woman my age and style both in hair and clothes and we found ourselves out by the water fountain after the main meeting at the same time.
She looked at that Navajo necklace and exclaimed how much she liked it; she had a squash blossom one, herself. She reached tentatively with a “may I?” to hold it up for a closer look at the details.
The design was “Basket of Blessings,” and my daughter had commissioned the pendant for me, and I, the silver-beaded chain from the artist.
That focal point created a connection on the spot, and we two women of the turquoise generation found ourselves swapping stories and laughing together as the clock ticked on as if we’d known each other our entire lives.
She was in the middle of the stress of helping a kid move while tending to other family while being away from home.
I was so glad she’d come. She was so glad for those moments. We parted friends, even if I never heard her last name.
It hit me a little later: I was suddenly so glad I hadn’t been able to find the blouse that would never have gone near that necklace.