Circa, 1955.
My grandmother was 18, just finishing school when she got engaged to my grandfather, a former boxer (he had solid hands and was missing a few teeth) and an engineer. She (and my grandfather too) always had elegant taste.
One day my mother sat me down to assemble trinkets from her jewelry box. Amongst the missing pairings was this subtle-shaped, disfigured Opal ring. For the longest time I hated gold, but I instantly knew it was hers. So I kept it.
I ‘ve always been blessed with her ire, and now her ring.
Circa, 1955
