Read My Pins_ Stories From a Diplomat's Jewel Box - Madeleine Albright [7]
My circle pin.
Returning to Wellesley for my junior year, I virtually floated into the assembly hall at convocation wearing a red sweater accented by Joe’s pin. My friends squealed appreciatively, and I promptly shared most, but not all, of the details of my summer romance and future plans. I quickly learned, though, that getting pinned and staying pinned were separate challenges. That winter, Joe had second thoughts about his career and decided that an early marriage might prove a hindrance. When he disclosed his thinking, I was dumbfounded and began taking my pin off slowly, hoping Joe would stop me. He didn’t, so I dropped the formerly precious object in his lap, whereupon he stood up, opened the window, and tossed the pin away. By the next morning, Joe had experienced third thoughts. Arriving at my room to accompany me to breakfast, he brought with him the keepsake he had tramped out into the snowy New England night to retrieve.
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Two arms full. My twins, Alice and Anne, 1961.
The following summer, Joe presented me with an antique emerald-and-diamond engagement ring he had bought in London. I loved it because it was beautiful but also because it was different. Other girls had engagement rings; I had this engagement ring. As I had discovered well after I had fallen in love with Joe, his family was socially prominent in both Chicago and New York. During our engagement, Joe’s grandmother gave me a gorgeous antique jade pin; it was slender and long, decorated with a carved dragon. When Joe’s sister Alice saw me wearing it, she looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. She told me later that she had first seen the piece while shopping with her grandmother and had pronounced it lovely. Naturally, she thought the dragon would one day come to her. I felt guilty—but not so much as to part with the pin.
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Feather, designer unknown.
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Jade dragon, designer unknown.
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Ruby fish, designer unknown.
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Daughter Katie, soon after her christening, 1967.
My wedding present from Joe was a fish pin with an emerald eye and ruby scales; on the back was the symbol for infinity. This hopeful hint of timelessness did not turn out to be apt, as our marriage ended in divorce after twenty-three years. In that time, I received an occasional gift but rarely shopped for jewelry myself. This was because women were expected to get their finery from men and because I was busy raising three children. I also never thought of the family money as mine to spend. The gifts, however, were much appreciated. From my grandmother-in-law (if there is such a thing), I received a second pin, this one feather-shaped, gold, with rubies. Joe’s Uncle Harry Guggenheim gave my twin daughters little seed pearl hearts. Joe himself bought me a lapis lazuli turtle pin, a small brooch of a spray of violets, and a necklace of irregular pearls from Saudi Arabia that I wore all the time. There were also little gifts of trinkets and beads that were pretty but not built to last.
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Violets, designer unknown.
and a gift from my parents, a Bohemian garnet set with detachable pendant/pin.
The piece of jewelry that meant the most to me, then as now, was created by Katie, my youngest daughter. It is a heart-shaped pin, composed of clay, presented to me on Valentine’s Day when Katie was five. I have often worn it since. The pin reflects one of the indispensable purposes of jewelry: to bind families together and connect one generation to the next. When I was a child, my sole treasures were a ring—a gold band with a single small diamond—that my mother had worn and a gold cross that I remember never being without. On my wedding day, my parents gave me a garnet