Rose Ring 1973-2013

A while ago, I did some posts telling the story of some of my cherished possessions.  They included Mom's baby shoes, a charm bracelet from Nanny Ryan and Weenie's lighter.  It is important to document the stories behind these things so that, someday long into the future, our children can make informed decisions about what to do with them.  This is such a story.

My rose colored ring was part of my first major purchase once I had a "real" job at Brooks' in Walton.  I bought another ring at the same time from the jewelry store in town--Paveglio's maybe.  They were on sale.   The other ring had a small purple stone in it that fell out several years later but I had an engagement ring to wear on that finger soon after so I didn't miss that one very much.  But I've worn the rose ring every day since about 1973.

Until about a year ago.  I was gardening and went to dump the cart when my ring got caught in a nasty yank.  My finger was sore for several days and the ring was badly misshapen. 

The picture doesn't really do the damage justice.  Anyhow, I thought I could live without the ring.  I wore the "root beer" ring in my little finger instead but I came to the conclusion that I really missed wearing that ring so I took it in for repair.  Initially, they told me it would be about $40 to reshape the ring.  I figured $1/year maintenance wasn't a bad price to pay for something I was really missing. 

But, of course, it can't be that easy.  The phone call comes from the jeweler that the ring needs more significant repair at a price that was probably about 3 times its original cost.  Understand that this wasn't real high quality gold or anything, it just meant a lot to me because it was the first thing I bought with my own money (and it was pretty too), so the original cost wasn't more than I could pay on a part time minimum wage salary from Brooks.  Reluctantly I told them not to continue with the repair. 

Then--epiphany.  This ring is a symbol of my work life.  It was shiny and pretty back when I first started in the work world.  With retirement looming, the ring gets stretched and pulled so far out of shape that it can no longer be worn.  Perfect analogy for the ending of my professional career.  I left teaching feeling kind of wrecked and bent out of shape.  So I'm pleased to keep the ring to symbolize my working years.  And when I'm gone, it can be too.

A Father's Day post about our great grandmother

This started out as a post about my memories of Grampie for Father's Day.  You will soon see how far off base I've gone, if you haven't already figured out that Father's Day was last weekend.  I hope all the Dads and Dads-by-proxy out there had a great day.

I received this picture of our great grandparents William Ryan and his wife Katherine Bentley Ryan.  This must have been taken some time before William died in 1934.  I would check on women's fashions for the time period to narrow down the possible date but you can imagine how distracted I would get then!  Perhaps another day......  Anyhow, William died at a hospital in Danvers and I wonder if this might be a picture taken on a visit??

Katherine Bentley Ryan was the daughter of Captain John Bentley, a middle child out of six children.  Her father was lost at sea when she was about 14 and her mother died just 3 years later.  I've often wondered what those years must have been like for that family.  It must have been difficult for all of them and I'm quite sure these experiences impacted their adult lives.

Katherine and William had 9 children; Grampie was 6th in line.  Katherine spent 11 years as a widow following William's death.

Another cousin, George Handran, gave me a packet of papers many years ago originally regarding Katherine's death.  You can see it in the lower left corner above (if you click the image it will become larger and more read-able).  I've included nearly the whole page since it was so interesting to see the article about Cape Pond Ice preparing to harvest the ice that January.  Also included on this page is the notification that the World War II efforts would be requiring "every able bodied young man"--Dad included (though I don't think he was drafted).  Even more interesting is the "Lively Spirit" article about an event held in East Gloucester, which Dad participated in.  George was very pleased to point this out to me.  Dad was 17 years old at the time--I can only imagine how PERT those observations must have been.

Anyhow, Katherine died alone in her upstairs apartment and her son Paul (Grampie) was the one who alerted the firemen for assistance.  The article is mistaken that she was the daughter of William Bentley but otherwise listed survivors accurately.  It was one survivor, her brother Martin, which led me on another merry chase as I was preparing this post.

Of course, I mine such article for names and to make connections.  One name here, Joseph A. Fialho, verified a family connection I had pending.  I've had these articles many years and still find new stuff contained within!  You note that Dad was a pallbearer for his grandmother.  Katherine was buried in a different cemetery than her husband for reasons yet to be discovered (though I have some suspicions). 

Hey, wanna have lunch together?

One thing I have to say I miss in retirement is interaction and conversation with adults other than the tight social group with whom I choose to spend time.  This week's news and media storm over Bowe Bergdahl's release in exchange for Guantanamo prisoners just begs for lunchtime banter with a variety of people who get their news from an even wider variety of sources. 

I have formed some opinions but I wonder how they will hold up in public discussion.  Having people around every day (more than) willing to share their own opinions helps to structure and validate my own.  So I feel a little adrift without such an anchor in my everyday life. 

We generally surround ourselves with people of like minds so those people may not offer those other viewpoints that are so important when forming opinions on popular topics.  Sometimes we feel very strongly about something and we don't need or want validation from others.  We'll stick to our guns regardless.  I'm not referring to such times in this case.

As I said, in this case with Bowe Bergdahl and the surrounding controversies, I have formed some opinions but am open to discussion and further input so I can solidify my stance.  Our cats do not help me with this and they are the ones I usually share my lunch with these days.  So--to the adults in my past life--I miss you even if I may have thought you idiots in the not-too-distant past. 

Having said that, I am not one bit sorry I retired.  The transition feels nearly complete--I was told it takes about a year and I guess that means I'm right on schedule.  It does feel very weird to be a "retired" person.  Aren't those people old???