A Field Trip to the ‘Jewelry-Er’

Editor’s note: In this personal Mother’s Day essay, Andrea Wenet shares the story of helping her great-nephew Levi turn a handful of “crystal” rocks into a heartfelt gift for his mom.

Last Sunday, I arrived at my niece’s to play and babysit for my great-nephews and -niece, Levi (age 7), Stella (age 5 going on 35) and Rahm (age 1 1/2). The house is upside down, the parents are hurrying and primping to get to an event on time. Never before have I had all three kids together with just me at the helm!

Immediately, Levi seeks me out. He tugs at my arm so I will lean down, as it’s obvious he is eager to whisper something in my ear. “Auntie Andy, Auntie Andy, will you take me to a ‘jewelry-er’? I found crystal rocks outside and I want to make my mom a ring for Mother’s Day.”

Levi shows me the rocks. We assess and examine each one. Shhhh! We’ve got to keep this quiet, maintain the surprise. There are hundreds of these small “crystals” in the rockery that surrounds the plants in the front of their house. I suggest we FaceTime with Sophie, my 32-year-old, can-do, solve-everything daughter. The truth is, I am already a bit overwhelmed, she’s a near-term lifeline.

Levi shows Sophie the rocks, talks about his wish to make a ring for his mom. Sophie shares with Levi that a ring will not work, but suggests a pendant. “What’s a pendant?” he asks. I tell him, and he will have none of it. A ring for my mom! On all fronts, we let Sophie off the hook.

It’s now 4 p.m., and my Google search reveals a big zero on jewelry stores currently open on Mercer Island. I say to Levi, “We need a Plan B. Here, Levi, look at what I found on Amazon. A ring with a wide flat surface that we can immediately order. We’ll select a rock with a flat surface and superglue it on the band; you’ll have a ring for your mommy for Mother’s Day!”

“I DO NOT WANT PLAN B!  
I. 
Want. 
To. 
Go. 
To. 
A. 
JEWELRY-ER!”

I flash back 27 years. It’s late April, tulip season. My husband and I took our two young children, Simon (then age 6) and Sophie (then age 4), on a day trip to La Conner. It was a glorious day. We walked through the tulip fields and did a “schmye” (i.e., shopping without buying unless something is so good you must buy it) in the quaint town.

We meandered in and out of every touristy shop — again and again — until one took a deep hold on Simon: a crystal and rock shop, There, Simon picked up an amethyst cluster and held it tightly in the palm of his hand. He showed the amethyst to us; a truly beautiful deep purple specimen. Simon tugged at Gary’s arm and whispered into his ear, “Dad, Dad, I want to buy this crystal for Mama for Mother’s Day.” Gary told him that was so incredibly thoughtful and sweet, then asked, “Simon, do you have $75? That’s an awful lot of money.” Simon bowed his head and sadly said, “No.”

Simon understood that without enough money, he would not be buying the crystal for me.

I swiftly jump back onto an expanded Google search. What’s open in Bellevue? I locate Olsen & Sons Fine Jewelry in Factoria Mall. It will be open until 5 p.m.

I take a deep breath and say, “Kids, we’re going on a field trip! I cannot guarantee what the jeweler can do, but at a minimum, we’ll get an education! Everyone (not Rahm, he’s in a diaper) go take a provisional pee and put your shoes on. We need to MOVE!”

Levi jumps up and down, flailing both of his hands (he does this when he gets really happy and excited) and says, “Auntie Andy, Auntie Andy, before you got here, I thought there was zero percent chance that we’d go to a jewelry-er, and now it’s 100 percent! I can’t believe it!”

I grab keys, and while the kids are getting ready, I sneak a call to Olsen’s to ensure they’re actually open. I let whoever answers the phone know that I am on my way in with three little kids; we’re 11 minutes away. I explain that Levi has “crystals” from the rockery and desperately wants to make a ring for his mom. I set clear expectations that this is an educational, exploratory field trip with the gentleman on the other end of the phone.

I act like a master of calm while knowing we’re playing beat the clock, shuffling the two youngest in and out of car seats with as much speed as I can muster. When we arrive at Factoria Mall, I realize I have no clue how to open the stroller for Rahm. Obvious to some, I’m flummoxed — nothing is working for me. Levi saves the day and gets us properly set up. The four of us barrel into Olsen’s.

Now I am channeling Mrs. Lunow, Simon’s kindergarten teacher. While I descend from a family of educators in Chicago, none were models of talking slowly or softly. Doing so, of course, causes the kids to lean in and be quieter.

We’re greeted by a gentle and kind man, Don. He’s clearly all-in on the field trip and seems to be the owner of Olsen’s. Don asks Levi to show him his collection of “crystal” rocks. We rummage through Stella’s tote bag full of everything from snacks to rocks.

No rocks! Levi looks at me, I look back at Levi — we left the rocks in the car.

I contemplate: Do I ask Don to watch the three kids? Or do I grab them all again, go back to the car, search for the jar of rocks, worry about the parking lot, and then hustle the four of us back to the store? I decide to ask no more of Don than I already have. As we’re exiting, he reminds me they’re on an auto alarm system and it’s nearing closing time.

Back in the store, Don places a velvet board on the glass counter. Levi empties the quartz rocks onto it, then Don examines each one. He knows the assignment.

Levi and Don are fully engaged (I force myself to stay out of the conversation as much as possible). Don says, “We’ll need to send the rocks to a lapidary.” Don notes our blank stares and explains that this is someone who specializes in cutting, polishing and identifying rocks. But sending the rocks out and back will take far too much time to get a gift to Ari for Mother’s Day.

Then Don gently tells Levi that, in fact, none of his rocks will actually work to make his mom a ring. Before Levi fully forms a frown, Don looks at him and suggests, “How about a pendant?” Levi looks back at me, pulls me down and says, “Remind me, what’s a pendant?” I reinvoke Sophie’s idea from earlier. There is no reason that a 7-year-old boy would have a visual understanding of a pendant.

Don selects the stone with the largest flat surface area and describes to Levi that instead of fixing it on a flat disk, he will wrap it in wire to transform his crystal rock into a pendant in time for Mother’s Day. He will create a loop so his mom can select any chain, and the length of her choice. He lets me know the price — which is so fair and generous — then writes up an invoice. We make arrangements for dad Adam to pick up the gift wrapped and ready in time to give it to Ari on Mother’s Day.

Two days later, Don calls me. I immediately let him know that Adam will be picking up the pendant, and I insist on giving him my credit card. Then Don gently interrupts me; I get an instantaneous pit in my stomach. Is he about to tell me they were unable to create the pendant?

Instead, he says, “I am not charging you anything! We (at Olsen’s) just wanted to make this happen for Levi, free of charge.”

Normally, I would argue the point. But Don’s gentle, kind nature, from the moment I called the shop, deserves one thing in that moment: gratitude.

Epilogue

When Adam picks up the pendant, he’s blown away at how beautifully crafted it is. While I had shared a heads up that Don insisted that it’s no charge, Adam, always kind and earnest, asked Don if he could at least pay for time and materials. Again, no.

My hopes and dreams for Mother’s Day: More sweet, gentle men in our world like Levi, Don, Adam and Simon.