Meme was in New York City when the center stone of her engagement ring fell out. Later that day, my Aunt Margot found a diamond in the middle of the street. It fit the ring perfectly. This happened before I was born, but the story was told to me throughout my childhood, an example of serendipity, luck, and what positive thoughts can bring.

When my grandfather proposed to Meme, he gave her a diamond solitaire. She thought it was boring and had a rectangular pin that was sitting in her jewelry box modified and added to the ring, a frame for the original stone. The ring, as is now unfortunately normal, lasted longer than the marriage and has picked up some history along the way.

My mom wears it every now and then. When I was young, I would sneak into her dressing room, rummaging through jewelry boxes, just to slip it on my finger for a few minutes. I took to referring to it as “my ring,” laying claim to it in the hope that my sisters wouldn’t fall in love with it too.

This past weekend there was a piece in the New York Times titled “With Grandma’s Ring I Thee Wed.” My mom circled it and put it in front of me on the kitchen table in between my bacon and orange juice.

I joke, probably too much, that I’m a bargain. I would like to wear my mom’s wedding dress (also worn by my grandmother) and I plan on somehow getting my mom to part with my grandmother’s ring, but neither decision is grounded in wanting to save money – the primary motivator in the Times piece.

I love history, especially family history. I’m a hopeless romantic and I am humbled by the prospect of being tied to my families past, as I build my future.

I think that that’s what it all circles back to. It’s not about a ring or a dress. It’s about ties. It’s about feeling like you are a part of a history and a story that goes back far further than your tiny role in it. That little piece of metal and stone is just that, a little piece of metal and stone. But, when worn, it collects memories and meaning that can’t be buffed away by times polishing cloth.