Pearls begin as grit that settles in the womb of an oyster. There its cradled and loved to maturity – sound familiar?

This precious opulent globe is eventually matched and strung together. Joined as one, they compliment all they grace – the wearer’s skin, the silk of the dress.

I was given Grandma’s pearl necklace, her earrings followed shortly after. Hers are unique – buttery cream more than creamy white. It was a “on the sly” kind of thing because my Uncle was going to be divorcing his wife and my mother’s mother wanted the pearls that he brought home from Okinawa to stay in the family – on the female side. I’m the oldest granddaughter, so they came to me. They are the only genuine jewelry I possess except my wedding rings, which belonged to my husband’s mother, who died before I ever met her.

I am honored to be the temporary guardian of these family treasures.

I wore them my wedding day. My sister-in-law wore them on her wedding day and now that my youngest sister had a girl, I can rest easy knowing I’ll be giving them to my adorably cute and smart niece, Miss Q. (Those wishing to guess what the “Q” stands for, you can leave a comment. Let’s see who gets it right.)

But we also possess other pearls. They don’t rest against the décolletage, or make a dress stand out. These are unstrung; a single pearl dropped into the virtual hand of the people we touch each day. A smile. A thought. A word.

These have the same qualities as the pearl that adorns – they shimmer and warm your skin, if not your heart.

Yeah, it may be Pollyanna of me, but this is what makes the world rotate, make the day bearable. So I’m charging all of you readers out there to pass out some pearls: adorn the world with shimmering and glowing words of encouragement or smiles. Warm those around with a touch and laughter.

Share the wealth.