Stoney Balogna

Let’s get one thing straight….. this has nothing to do with weed! Instead, I wanted to share a little story with you.

I have this family heirloom. A bracelet. It’s a totally beautiful bracelet that I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I know that it was given to me a long long time ago, and somehow got to me from my Pop. Pop, he was my best friend when I was a kid. My great grandfather was my hero, my male role model, and one of the kindest people I knew. I often think about the life my family has created here in the mountains and think that he would have been proud, but more importantly… he’d totally be into it. So needless to say this bracelet has been a prized possession for as long as I can remember. However over the years it has spent most of it’s time in my jewelry box, for two reasons, for a really long time it was broken, like I got it broken, and after I had it fixed about 10 years ago, I’ve been too afraid to wear it. You see, all of this time, I had the story in my head that my great grandfather had made this unique piece of jewelry for my great grandmother. That was the story. The romanticism of that dream has always played a role in my life (and career).

Here’s where that all blows up in my face…..

Last week I met up for lunch with my Aunt and Uncle and cousins who were in town for a visit. Now let me paint a picture of my Aunt V for you…. I’ve wanted to grow up to be here my entire life, like still. She’s the younger of my dad’s sisters, and at only 14 years my elder has always felt more like that older big sister that I looked up to. She use to introduce me to new bands and frosted eye liner when she was home from college, and even now still gives me style advice…even if it is now on the trendiest pair reading glasses….haha. She’s an incredibly talented writer and has always provided endless creative inspiration. You know, it’s almost like she gave me permission to march to my own drummer too.

Well, as I walked up to greet her, arms wide open for a huge hug, what did I notice….the mother fucking bracelet! I was stunned. Why would Pop have made 2 of these for Grandma? The hug felt like I was colliding with a family secret that was going to blow up in my face. I’m pretty sure that the first thing that I blurted out of my mouth was “I have that exact same bracelet, where did you get that?”, like even before “hi” or “it’s so good to see you”. I felt so rude and so taken back all in the same moment.

This is when V started to tell my the story, like the real actual story, of where THESE two bracelets came from, and it goes a little something like this:

“When Grandma and Pop lived in Spain he bought these bracelets off of a street vendor. Broken.”

This prized heirloom. This bracelet that I had so many fascinating stories of the love he put into creating it for her, and how the clasp had worn and broken because it too was her prized possesion. How heart broken she was when it broke and how I had fixed it for her years after her passing. The one physical item that I had that gave me that gut feeling that stone work was deep in my blood and had connected me directly to him.

KABOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!

They were bought off a street vendor in Spain. Fucking broken.

But here’s the thing. I’ve let this make believe story create an amazing life for myself. Regardless of where the bracelet came from or how it came to be mine, it provided me with the inspiration, the courage, and the connection to become a pretty good artist. This whole blown up in my face interaction in the middle of the road outside my favorite coffee shop gave me an even greater gift though….. The permission to wear the bracelet.

You know what else it gave me? The raddest matching BFF bracelet with my Aunt V!