I’ve mentioned several times about how my Grandmother lost her diamond ring on the beach on Martha’s Vineyard, and my Grandfather reached down into the sand and miraculously pulled it up. It’s such a great family story, and one of my favorites, not least because it highlights my Grandpa and because I love the ring itself so much. (And began the legend that my Grandfather is excellent at finding jewelry.)
I thought I’d show it to you, because it’s thirty-one years ago today that my Grandmother (Mom’s Mom) died suddenly. I was only nine and I so don’t have as many memories of her as I’d like, but still. Every time I wear her ring, I think of her. I love it as a piece of jewelry because I think it’s stunning. It’s classic, with that “antique” look, but without being overdone or too busy. And yet, it’s not boring and plain, either. It’s just a gorgeous ring–one which I know I’d be happy to wear every single day, without getting tired of it. (As I’m sure my grandmother did not.)
But I also love the narrowing of the band from the years on her finger, and how the engraved tracing of pattern on the side of the band is almost completely rubbed away. It’s very definitely her ring, and the only real memento I have of her.
Well, that, and my Mom.
From what she tells me, she and I have pretty much the same best-friend kind of relationship that she had with her Mom . . . and the same occasional outburst of “sillies” accompanied by fits of giggles.
Really, I think Grandma and I would have gotten on just wonderfully. And somehow, I think she’d be pleased that I keep both her ring and her daughter so carefully in my heart.
Just a few more pictures, because this was fun….
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