That was a refrain I heard from my father very often, when I’d return from a jewelry hunt with my newest treasures. My excitement would be rife, as I held the bag (or, bags, usually) of my new acquisitions, anticipating taking everything out and poring over each item, again and again. He’d shake his head and make puzzled remarks.
In that time period there were what felt like many rich fields to plunder --garage sales, flea markets, antique shows held in agricultural halls, with booth after booth of vendors, estate sales...That was before the internet. What you stumbled across or sniffed out was surely meant specifically for you to have it, it was meant be yours. Why else would it be there, glittering in the sun, if not for you to walk past and catch a glimpse? Serendipity. Happenstance. Fate. The cosmic connection between you and that Coro brooch. Not that you knew the difference between a Coro and a Castlecliff back then; that was in the future.
At first, all that mattered was the sparkle. Did you feel like a princess? Did it go with an outfit? Maybe it was in the design of your favorite flower, or it was perhaps just so odd that you had to have it. That was the hook: how the pieces made your imagination race and move like a train on its tracks, full speed.
Years ago I saw a brooch that was very strange and so I had to have a closer look. As you do when you’re lucky, I struck up a conversation with the lady running the booth. She didn’t know a lot of about it, but could tell me it was handmade and old. I’d certainly never seen anything like it, and still haven’t. It’s the black beaded brooch in the photo. It has black art glass, beads, rhinestone tipped beads, and it is seriously solid and well made, one of those pieces you can’t imagine until you see it, and then it’s hard to look away.