Tuesday, 25 September 2012
I love those pieces of your life that come tagged with a story.
I have had the most wonderful privilege of having this ring keep me company all summer.
Now look close -- take a look at those markings on the inside of the band. They're faint, and small, but squint and look closer. This beautiful 22-carat gold sliver of a ring belonged to my great-grandmother. Those inner markings are from the original jeweller in 1912. It has never been melted down, never been resized, has never been tampered with in any way.
It's stunning beauty is in its simplicity. The carat is so high on the ring, the gold looks nearly rose. The width of the band emphasizes its delicacy. But the most valuable visual on this stunning piece of history are the markings and scratches on the outside.
The ring's not perfect, I admit. In fact, it looks somewhat worn and tired, in a way. The surface is dulled by numerous scratches and grooves. And that's what takes my breath away. You can see the life it lived. You can see what it has endured (which is two world wars, two continents and three generations). I marvel at the thought of what it has seen and experienced. What meals it slaved over. How many sheets and socks it laundered. How much agony it suffered. How much raw joy it was conscious of.
Does that not take your breath away?
After an entire summer, I find myself groping for it, and am struck by the loneliness brought on by its absence.