Repurposed kitchen backsplash from the 1900s

I never thought I had a lot of family history until I asked my mom one day if she had anything that would be interesting to investigate for this assignment. We were eating dinner during this conversation, so I was surprised when she stood up and walked over to one of the tiles in our kitchen backsplash. Now, this backsplash is something that I have seen every day since I was five, so to say I was confused when she pointed at a seemingly ordinary tile was an understatement. The tile is 4x4in and in the shape of a square. The edges of the square are rough, and the corners are rounded out. The tile is textured and when you run your hands over it you can feel the bumps that were added to give it dimension. Painted onto the tile are a brown pitcher, a light blue bottle of oil, some fruit and vines, a bundle of garlic, and a small cream-colored teacup. My mom proceeds to tell me that this tile was custom-made from the grounded remnants of a tile she was gifted after my nana’s passing. The tile she was gifted was an original tile from the Vedovato bros tile business. The Vedovoto bros were the business my family started when they first arrived in America. My mom proceeded to tell me that she thought the original tile looked too dated to be used in our kitchen, so she went to a local tile company and had the tile ground down and remade into the tile above. She walked back to the dinner table after this and began to tell me the history of the Vedovato bros business (something I had no previous knowledge of).

In the late 1800s William, Vincent, Joe, and Erminio Vedovato, went to a trade school in Italy to study tile, marble, terrazzo, and mosaic. After they finished their education, they moved to Germany. In Aachen, Germany Acme Tile and Marble was created. The business was going really well so Vincent and William decided to take a vacation to New York City. On this vacation, they realized two things. The first was that construction was on the rise. Second, there were barely any tile businesses. This sparked an interest and after heading back to Germany, (as history goes) there was a long conversation between the four brothers. This conversation specifically discussed the turmoil they sensed boiling within the German government and the new opportunity they could have in America. This leads the brothers to their third move.

Upon arriving in the city, they bought a storefront at the end of 116th street right next to the East River. This location was prime for them because tile shipments were easily brought to their storefront. With the new move to a different country, they also changed the name of their shop. In 1910, they became the Vedovato bros and was primarily being run by Joe and Ermino.

Once again business was going extraordinarily well, but three major events changed the course for these brothers. The first and second events occurred in tandem with WWI in 1914 and the Spanish Influenza in 1918. While both the war and the flu put a strain on their business financially the biggest loss was the death of their brother Vincent who succumbed to the influenza. However, after his death, the roaring 20s picked up in full swing, and apartments were being built faster than they could produce the tile. This brought on more change within the business. In the mid-1920s William had decided to leave the business and headed back to Italy to help my great-great-great-great-grandparents on their family farm. Joe also left the business selling his share to Ermino. My great-grandfather Leon then joined the family business and worked along with his father.

The third major hit for this business was a combination of the stock market crash, the great depression, and WWII. When WWII hit the Vedovato bros shifted their company from tiles to a machine shop where they manufactured nuts and bolts to help aid in the war. Once the war was over, they were able to reopen the tile business and began importing tile from Japan. The shift from Acme tile imports to Japanese imports came from the U.S. government taking over Japan’s rebuilding where they began focusing heavily on the tile industry.

As the years went on more of my family began to join the business and more storefronts and storage warehouses were created in the Vedovato name. My grandpa ended up joining the business after his father (Leon) had passed and began to run the company alongside my nana Lena and her brothers. The business did begin to slow down until 1968 when my nana Lena decided to open one of the first tile showrooms in New York.

This new way of visualizing tile allowed for the business to pick up once again and be passed down into more generations. The business has since passed down to the fourth generation of Vedovatos and was the origin of one of the tiles in our kitchen backsplash!

My sister has a ring. It’s not too old, only coming into our family in 1946, but an heirloom nonetheless. It was given to her a few months after she turned twenty by our great-grandmother at a family reunion. The gift giving was a moment of joy for some, a moment of jealousy for others, and it was also the last time I saw my father’s mother’s mother alive. 

My paternal grandmother has ten siblings, six of them sisters, all of whom have children and grandchildren of their own. So why, pray tell, out of all the options, all the daughters, grand-daughters and great-granddaughters, was the ring bestowed upon my sister? This silver band studded with a diamond suited perfectly to its size. It might have something to do with the fact that my grandmother is her oldest, my father my grandmother’s oldest and my sister my father’s. It could be that, a logical chain of primogeniture succession. It could be that, unlike many others, my sister had never shown any interest in possessing the ring, a ring central to the mythology of our paternal family. Perhaps. Or it could just be that out of all of my great-grandmother’s progeny, all of the many many grand-children and great-grandchildren, my sister was the only one named for her. The only other Lillian.

This state of affairs, that is the fact that only one person was named after a woman who had eleven children, is particularly egregious once you take into account that almost every firstborn son in the family has Eugene as either their first or middle name, including my father. Eugene being the name of her husband and my great-grandfather. It’s really quite sad to think how utterly surprised she was when my mother and father told her that their first child would be named after her. So, of course, my sister got the ring. From one Lillian to another. An unassailably sensible decision. But how did the elder Lillian come to have it in the first place? 

We go back to the end of WWII and Operation Magic Carpet. It’s January 1946 and Gene Hamshar is getting off a ship in his hometown of NYC. He’s been away for years, seen hell, fought from the shores of Normandy, to the Hürtgen Forest, to the Baltic. He saw friend’s die in the Battle of Bulge, only surviving himself with the help of some Belgian women who dutifully changed their flags from German to British back to German several times a week. And after all that he was back and nothing had changed. Well nothing besides the fact that he now had a low-interest mortgage and an addiction to liquor. 

Something that had certainly not changed throughout his time at war, was what the first thing he was going to do when he got back. Though he had promised to go straight home as soon as he got back to American. Instead, Gene elected, as his first action back in the U.S., to go to a pawnshop. I couldn’t tell you the name of the place or how long he stayed there or even how many different shops he visited. I can tell you that by the time he walked up the steps of the Hamshar home in Queens, he had a diamond ring burning a hole in his pocket. And standing before him was the beautiful woman he wanted to put it on.

The woman at hand was Lillian Herndon. Lillian was not a city girl. Nor did she ever expect to even see a city much bigger than Charlottesville. But here she was in New York staring down at the man she met all those years ago, before the war took him over to Europe. The two had met when he was in her home town of Scottsville, Fluvanna County, Virginia. One of those tiny Mid-Atlantic towns in a empty county with soil still badly damaged from generations of tobacco planting. The town, village really, was exceptionally quiet Lillian’s whole life. Until one day it was flooded with young men from FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Eugene Hamshar was one of these young men.

After years apart and days spent waiting for him at his parent’s house, Lillian didn’t have it in her to wait a second longer. She rushed down the stairs, threw the door open and wrapped her arms around her Gene. And that’s when he asked her to marry him. Still in his uniform, he got down on one knee, beseeching her in that soft, polite voice of his, and without a second’s hesitation, she gleefully accepted. Having caught wind of what was happening outside, the Hamshar family joined the couple on the steps and officially and likely tearfully welcomed their only son back home. At some point, someone thought to commemorate the day with a photo. A photo now tucked safely away in their eldest daughter’s desk.

Eugene and Lillian were married on February 23, 1946 in Scottsville, VA. and the engagement ring was replaced by a golden wedding band. Safely retired to a mostly vacant jewelry box, the diamond studded loop of silver awaited an heir for the next seventy-two years. Only being brought out for annual resuscitations of the story that brought a truly prodigious family into being. A family that altogether now constitutes about a third of the Scottsville corner of Fluvanna County. Though, of course, that’s not exactly a whole lot of people.

I chose to describe my childhood stuffed German Shepherd. This plush toy was given to me by my mother’s boss at a Christmas party in 2004. Invited to a party where everyone was larger and older than my brother and I, we were allowed to spend the hours in his now grown-up children’s playroom. A small holiday gift, we were allowed to take a toy home. Once I set my eyes on this dog, I was strangely drawn to it. Coincidently it was his one of his daughter’s favorites growing up.

Handling the plush, it is roughly the size of a small dog itself. When the plush is laid on its side, it is approximately the same size as a Yorkie. Standing up, the plush is 12 inches by 6 inches. A young child would be almost dwarfed when carrying it around. For someone on the smaller side, the dog would be tedious to carry around.

On the bottom of the dog is a well-worn white tag that has begun to grey with age. The tag is looped and measures an inch out from the body of the dog. On one side there is a stitched yellow bear holding an unintelligible sign and stitched blue text on the reverse.

Unfortunately, the word on the bear side of the tag has been worn away. Beneath the bear are the letters “C. W” written crookedly in bright pink marker. The other side of the tag reads: “© R. Dakin & Co. – 1986. San Francisco, CA. Product of Korea. PA Reg No. 118. All New Materials. Contents: Polyester”.

The fur, according to its tag, is made from polyester and is smooth to caress. The fur itself is more akin to a cat’s fur than a dog. Squeezing the body of the dog, it is filled with some sort of fluff to give it a fuller shape. The eyes and nose are, on the other hand, are made of harder material. Knocking a knuckle against the eyes and the nose, both appear to be made from the same hard plastic. Rubbing a finger pad across the eyes, scratches can be felt. The eyes share the duplicate sensation as well-used sandpaper. The eyes have a mismatched array of scratches with some deeper than others. When facing towards the plastic eyes, the scratches omit one’s reflection.

The plastic nose has suffered the same fate as the eyes. There are numerous scratches as well as chunks missing from the black plastic. No longer sitting correctly on the snout of the plush, the plastic nose appears to have been glued back onto the plush. Looking head on at the dog, the nose appears crooked in proportion to the rest of its features. Using a hand to feel around the broken plastic nose, what appears to be hardened by aged glue can be felt around the edges.

While filled with stuffing, the front of legs of the dog are hard in comparison to the rest of the body. Putting my entire hand around the right front leg, the animal seems to have some sort of hardened rod in inside of it. Inside the front two legs, the rods seem to have been put in disproportionally. One rod can be felt down to the paw while the other stops just short of it. As a result, the dog leans more to its left side and gives off the same feeling as a crooked painting.

Using a hand to pet the dog as though it was real, there are patches along its back where there is less fur. From a distance, the dog’s back black hair appears splotchy like an incomplete haircut. The front hair and other light brown parts of the dog feels fuller and coarser than the back. While not uncomfortable, there is a stark contrast in the difference of feeling. Running a hand from the black fur to the brown fur, it is like petting two different toys.

Near the base of the tail, the original light purple stitching appears where the toy is starting to split at the seams. At the actual base of the tail there are pieces of fine plastic stitching sticking out like a spider’s legs. The very fine yarn loops the base of the tail to the actual body of the plush. Giving the tail a tug, the stitchwork holds and gives very little.

Despite the aging and the threadbare appearance of the toy, the material shows the decades use and love of two young girls growing into young women. Now as one girl is currently attending college, the other is currently practicing law after graduating from Harvard Law. While both may have outgrown the well-loved toy, the toy’s presence has yet to come to an end.

The object at hand is my great-grandmother’s (i.e., nana’s) locket. Within the women of my family, it has become a family heirloom that was passed down from my nana to my mom and eventually will be given to me.

This heirloom is made of solid yellow gold and consists of three heart-shaped layers (back, front, and the middle pull apart). The pull-apart capability of this locket was created from having a thinner gold heart inside the general locket. There is a clasp at the top of the heart that allows the wearer to open the locket. When this item was in possession of my nana a small picture was inserted into this pull-apart section. If we look at the front of the locket the ridges around the edge of the heart are both raised and slightly rounded creating a small reservoir or sunken effect where a thin layer of gold lays flat beneath it. This thin layer of gold is textured. If you rub your finger across the surface, it is the same as when you rub your fingers against a decorative pillow. If we look at the top of the heart, we can see two rods of thick gold curve down into roughly the center of the locket. These rods are attached to the flat gold base and are each adorned with a single round-cut diamond.

When you compare the dainty modern-day lockets to this one you can see the drastic size difference. This locket measures about 3.8 centimeters in length. When clasped the width is nearly 3.6 centimeters, and when fully opened it expands to a little over 5 centimeters. This locket can fit perfectly in the hand of a toddler.

When I flip this locket over, we see the real significance of the object. Engraved in English roundhouse script are three parallel lines of writing. The first line reads To Lena, which is then followed by From Leon. Finally, the last line has the date of 11~24~59. Due to this slight shakiness in some of the lettering, it can be determined that this was done by hand. If I theorize a lozenge burin could very well be the tool used to make these markings. The markings on the locket are consistent with the markings the tool makes. The engravements appear to be deeper than the width of the letters.

The chain is completely flat, unlike a rope chain. Each individual link seems to be made of an “S” like shape, and each of these “S’s” intertwine with the tail of the next. Even through heavy research, not much is known about the maker of this object. It can be assumed that it was made in 1959, as the given date suggests, and when looking at the clasp at the top of the chain a small stamp of Italy, 14k can be found. In my own assumptions of the making of this necklace I imagine that it was imported from Italy to a jeweler in the city or Scarsdale, NY; where then a small business owner took it upon himself to make the engravings.

The necklace was a gift given by my great-grandfather, Leon, to my nana Lena for their 25th wedding anniversary. They had been married in 1934, a year before they had my uncle (great-uncle) Dick, and eleven years before the birth of my grandpa Larry. They had been high school sweethearts and were married for 29 years before Leon had passed away at the age of 50. This necklace was given to her four years before his passing and my mom recalls that never once had she ever taken it off. My mom has told me stories that when she was little, she used to sit on her nana’s lap and play with the pendent begging for her to let her try it on. “When you’re older I’ll give it to you Laur.”, she would say; she later gave it to my mom a month before she passed. In this photograph of my mom, myself, and nana, if you look closely, you can see the chain of the necklace around her neck.

The object I have decided to select is an Aluminum ingot. The dimensions of the ingot measure about 2.3 inches at the top and 2.6 inches near the base. The object is small enough to be held comfortably within the palm of one’s hand. The shape is typical of a standard metal ingot. The ingot shows some bubbles and ripples, especially on the bottom and the sides. There exists a small amount of corrosion and black marks. One of the faces of the ingot is slightly extended, on this side there is a small brown-bronze mark. The ingot is mostly the trademark silvery color of aluminum, but shows black and yellow marks in certain areas dude to residue and oxidation. This ingot is composed primarily of aluminum, primarily sourced mainly from aluminum beer and soda cans; These cans were mostly found in the forest behind my home. The other sources include some junkyard scrap, and some broken computer heatsinks.

            The process in which this ingot was made involved the use of a homemade, charcoal powered furnace. The process of constructing the furnace consisted of filling a bucket with a mixture of plaster, sand, and silica powder; these are all highly heat resistant materials and can withstand the high temperatures. An indentation was made with a smaller vessel and left until the filling hardened somewhat. Afterwards a hole was drilled in the side, and once it was fully hardened, a metal tube with an air outtake was placed through the hole. Our crucible was essentially just a fire extinguisher cut in half; just a sturdy steel cup to hold metal. We put charcoal at the bottom and used the air outtake to heat up the hot coals and bring the crucible to temperature and we put cans in until they melted. Once the metal was all liquid, we poured it into an ingot mold to cool.

            This process was rather painstaking and time consuming, but it was a great experience working with my friends to create something like this. It took a lot of technical ability, and some dumb luck granted, to create this ingot. The ingot wasn’t our final objective, it was simply done so we could have some clean metal to make other objects later down the line. The difficulty involved in creating this ingot adds to the meaning of the object. We considered simply buying some source ingots to use for our crafts, but we figured making our own would be the right thing to do. Inadvertently we ended up cleaning a lot of the litter and refuse in the woods.

            We used the ingots for various things, and we fashioned all sorts of different items by casting the metal in foam cutouts buried in sand. The foam burns away leaving a hole for the metal to seep into and fill up. We each made our own trinkets: One of my friends made a set of knuckles, another a casting of a sculpture, and I made a model sword. All of these items didn’t really hold any significant value, and the thought behind them was nothing more than intrigue, but the process that shaped them added a sense of completion.

The object I wish to explore is a Christmas gift I received from my Aunt Laurie a few years ago after her trip to Norway. The framed medallion, considered a form of scrimshaw, depicts a man atop of a whale, breaching the surface of an ocean. Beneath the carefully carved, intricate scene has the words, “THE LEGENDARY RIDE OF JOHN TABOR” followed by an illegible signature of the author. 

The medallion is surrounded by a rectangular frame, measuring at about 10” x 7”, while the medallion is merely 3 inches. While this form of art is considered scrimshaw, which is artwork carved into an image of ivory, however, I am under the impression it is a form of faux ivory due to the small writing on the back that claims that this is one piece out of 150 pieces. Ivory, now considered unethical and difficult to obtain, is hard to identify without using a blacklight or burning a part of the ivory. With a more careful investigation, I discovered the carvings must have been darkened with color as a result of underglazing, which highlights the indentations made in the faux ivory. The carvings are intricate and incredibly thin. The depth of each line is hard to measure, because of how shallow each stroke is. The darker parts of the carving, such as the whale or the shadowed parts of the wave, have a palpable texture to them.

The background of the scene depicted on the medallion is incredibly light and intricate. The carvings are especially shallow, and created with a pattern of dots, while the foreground is created by a series of lines, ultimately creating a depth to the piece of artwork. There is a face embedded within the background, ever so lightly, as to bring attention to the man, who I’m sure is John Tabor. The man is carefully created with careful, thicker lines as to bring emphasis onto his face, and leaving much lighter portions in order to distinguish his body from the whale. The whale is very very dark, having been done with a cross-hatching technique to distinguish his body from the ocean. The whale is dark, giving me the impression that the whale is a sperm whale. Additionally, the sperm whale has the defining large, square head, which is reflected in this drawing. 

This scrimshaw depicts the story of John Tabor, who is a character in the book “Etchings of a Whale Cruise,” written by John Ross Browne in 1846. The story is considered a Nantucket story because of its intense focus on whaling. John Tabor is depicted to be riding a whale in the novel, as well as being one of the profound characters. In consideration of how the sperm whale is a major target for whalers, I am assuming this was a depiction of how John Tabor had to, in all of his masculine glory, physically grab the whale in order to catch and kill it for his whaling expedition.

The artist who created this scrimshaw must’ve found the story to be quite compelling, given that this piece is one of 250. Because this was a gift, I am not entirely sure it’s origin. Despite many attempts at research, I was unable to find where it was made originally, how it was sold to my Aunt in Norway and why she chose to give it to me. But I am aware that it is associated with whaling, and inspired Herman Melville’s famous novel Moby-Dick. Because Norway is on the shore, and has its own association with whaling, boating and sailing, I am sure it is a crossover between the two cultures. I would love to explore this piece further, and I am tempted to ask my Aunt Laurie how she got her hands on this object and if she has any further information on it. 

The object I’ve decided to describe is my great-great-grandmother’s engagement ring. Her name was Edna Greoss, the ring was given to her in 1916 by her husband Geoge Maier. Both of them being from German immigrant families living in Brooklyn, New York. They had one son, Joseph Patrick Maier born on Saint Patrick’s day in 1913. Joseph was their only child as George died fighting a fire in 1919, just three years after their marriage. Edna would wear this ring until her death in 1984 when she was 87. Before she was buried, Joseph took the ring and later gave it to his wife Kathryn Meringolo. When my great-grandmother Kathryn died, her jewelry was divided amongst her children, with my grandma, Arlene Botte receiving Edna’s engagement ring in her share. This would then be given to my mother, Marie, as she is the only one amongst her siblings who cares for jewelry. 

The ring itself is rather simple, with a small diamond and a thin yellow gold band. Starting with the central stone, one can see that the stone is cut in the traditional diamond shape, with a wide, flat head at its top. The diamond’s head is about an ⅛” wide and then angles down slightly at its sides. This then leads directly to where the stone angles into a sharp point at its bottom. The diamond’s width from top to bottom is also about an ⅛”, however is difficult to see within the rings setting. This cut would be very traditional and quite popular in 1916 at the time of its creation. The diamond itself is strikingly clear, however it lacks the same iridescence, exactness, and almost splintered look that may be found in a modern diamond. This is because this diamond was hand cut by the jeweler as opposed to the machine cut diamonds that are popular in engagement rings of the last 50 years.  

The setting the diamond is placed in is also rather traditional for the time. The gold prongs that hold the stone snuggly in place rest in four corners, creating a square around the diamond, though the edges are rounded. With the prongs around it the diamond reaches 3/16”. The prongs themselves are segmented into three sections each by two lines cut into the metal. These three segments are all rounded, coming together into one unsegmented strip of metal that connects to the actual band of the ring. On the top and bottom of the ring, between each pair of prongs there are 2 pieces of gold that look as though they would wrap around the prongs, however this is a mostly superficial feature that acts as a visual and protective barrier to the diamond. 

Further describing the setting, one can see directly on either side of the diamond, a separate piece of metal, thicker than the band, though only 1/16”. These pieces of gold reach from the diamond down to the ring’s band. Where it connects to the band, it is wrapped by two thin circles of gold. This piece, what is called the gallery, is what makes up the bulk of the ring’s setting, lifting the ring up slightly from its band. Where it lifts from the band there is a slight gap between the setting and the ring, just large enough that you would be able to see slightly through it. When looking straight at the ring you can also see that this setting is decorated by two lines on either side of the diamond. The lines taper, with them being thickest at the stone, getting thinner as they get closer to the band. 

The band itself is incredibly thin, being barely wider than 1/32”, slightly thinner than a normal iPhone charger. It has slight dents here and there, due to gold being such a soft metal, though it still remains a perfect circle. While there may have once been an original engraving on the inside of the band, that has been lost. This would have happened in the time of Kathryn owning the ring. One can see by the barely visible line in the band that she had the ring made smaller, cutting out the original engraving and later having a small letter “K” engraved into the ring’s side. However, there has been no more interference with the ring’s structure, now resting at a ring size 5, being about ¾” wide overall.

Since we were children, my sister and I debated who would get great-great-grandma Edna’s engagement ring. After many petty arguments the ring has come into my possession. The argument was admittedly solved because it fit me perfectly while it was too small on my sister. However, I am just glad to have such an important heirloom so that I may pass it on to my own children someday.

Image 1: The beaded bracelet

I decided to write about a bracelet I received from my nurse right before I had surgery. I didn’t know her too well, we had only met once prior when I had gone to the hospital for pre-surgical testing. Maybe she saw how fidgety and nervous I was about a simple blood test, and figured I needed some sort of grounding before walking into a major operation. The bracelet came in a navy blue gift box, and a piece of cyan paper that identifies the different crystals on the bracelet, and what their purposes are. According to the paper, this bracelet is meant to improve balance and release positive energy.

Image 2: The paper listing the different crystals on the bracelet

At a glance, the bracelet consists of 24 beads on a pearly white elastic thread, and in the middle, there is a metal charm. The bracelet is 2.5 inches in diameter when relaxed, fits in the palm of your hand, and can stretch a considerable amount to account for different wrist sizes (I’ve never tested its true limits, as I have tiny wrists).

The beads on the bracelet are perfect spheres, and click softly against each other when it is worn. there are six different types of crystals on the bracelet: clear quartz, amethyst (purple), peach aventurine, carnelian (orange), goldstone, and rhodonite (pink). The beads come in pairs, and there are two pairs of each crystal on the bracelet. The beads are arranged in a way so that each pair of the same beads is located on the opposite side of the bracelet from one another. Through the clear quartz beads, you can see the string that keeps them all together. Some of the crystals (like the carnelian and goldstone) are more opaque than the others, and the goldstone specifically has a glitter-like shimmer. Not all of the crystals look the same, one of the rhodonite stones is darker than the others. An indicator that the crystals on this bracelet are real is that the bracelet is always cool to the touch before I put it on. Perhaps that is what makes it good for releasing tension and grounding the wearer, the coolness against the skin is a constant reminder of the crystals’ presence.

Between a pair of clear quartz beads and pair of peach aventurine beads is a small charm made of a dark grey metal. It’s cool to the touch, but not as cool as the beads of the bracelet. There are two parts to the charm: the part that sits next to the beads on the bracelet, and the disk that dangles below it. The part that wraps around the bracelet has a pattern of small bumps and smooth lines, with a line of larger bumps in the center. under it is a small ring where a thin jump ring connects it to the small disk that hangs off of the bracelet. On both sides of the disk, there is a small engraving of a tree trunk with six curvy branches, surrounded by abstract swirls meant to represent leaves. the trunk and branches are carved a bit deeper than the leaves, but both are deep enough that it’s noticeable when you run your thumb over it. It makes itself known by clicking against the beads above it with even the slightest of movements.

Image 3: A close-up of the metal charm

While this may not be the most-worn accessory I own, I know I will always have it when I am in need of physical or mental grounding. If it was with me at the scariest time of my life, I know it will stay a part of me for times to come.

For this assignment, I have decided to describe my maternal grandmother’s engagement ring (image 1 and 2), which she randomly gifted me recently.

The ring is most likely from the 1950s, however I am unsure of its exact age but this is an approximation based on the information that I do know. The ring itself is a little bit smaller than the size of a quarter (Image 1) with the diamond being smaller than a pencil eraser. The ring has two separately twisted pieces of gold metal making up the band. I am unsure of what the band is made of, but upon closer inspection of the ring it looks like there is a “14k” engraved on the bottom of the inside of the band (Image 2) , which is most likely an indication that the band is 14 karat gold. 

Like previously mentioned, the band has two separate twisted pieces of metal that stay together along the sides and the bottom of the ring, but as the twisted pieces continue towards the top of the ring they begin to separate allowing for the diamond to be placed right in the center (Image 4). The twist in the band can be compared to when you twist a piece of yarn between your fingers, not two pieces being twisted together, but just one to give off the illusion that there is more than one piece being twisted. While the whole band is made up of these twists, the bottom of the ring includes a small section where the band flattens out (Image 3), which is either an indication of wear and tear or something that just happened in the production process. 

The color of the band is a light gold color that is very similar to the color of the chairs in Element 93 or, to provide a more widely known comparison, it is an almost pale yellow tan color with darker sections where the twists in the metal are.

The diamond itself is about less than half the size of a mechanical pencil eraser, allowing it to fit in-between the two sections of twisted metal perfectly. The diamond itself is not placed directly between the two sections, instead it is slightly risen above the band (Image 4). While the diamond lacks any sparkle out of direct light, it sparkles more when is placed in direct light and comes alive, allowing for the simple beauty of the piece to show. 

While the reason for my grandma’s gifting of her engagement ring is unknown, the family history behind the piece is significant. The ring was given to my grandma by my grandpa during their engagement. While the beginning of their marriage was good, as time went on the love in the marriage began to dissolve, and this unhappiness of course led to a divorce. After time went on both my grandma and grandpa got remarried to better people who fit each of them better. So while the ring is connected to a mixture of unhappy and happy memories attributed to a failed marriage, the ring meant enough to my grandma that she wanted to gift it to me rather than sell it.