My Wedding Rings

There's been a considerable amount of stress in my own personal stepmomville lately. Nothing I can blog about, yet. Anyhoo, in the down time I have found myself twisting my wedding ring round and round. And it got me thinking about my wedding rings.
Last year, at about this time, The Husband and I went on a mini-vacation. As we were driving through one little town, we saw an antique shop and decided to check it out. I found a musical beer stein (!) and decided to buy it. As I was checking out, I noticed a small case of vintage jewelry. Now, I don't wear jewelry, ever. Well, I do wear a few earrings but they are the plain old surgical steel hoops I was pierced with years ago. Rings? Nope. Necklaces? Naah. Bracelets? For the birds!
But this one ring caught my eye. Two small emeralds, flanked by diamond chips, circa 1940. I asked the shop owner if I could see it. I held it up in the sunlight and the emeralds, though not high quality by any means, glowed an intense shade of green. The two emeralds sit next to each other, but not exactly side by side. The (then-boyfriend) Husband walked over to see what I was doing. I showed him the ring, and he encouraged me to try it on. I was a bit resistant, but he insisted and eventually just grabbed the damn thing and slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly, and so it became mine.
At this point, we had already planned on getting married. The Husband didn't "ask" me to marry him, because that whole idea goes against my feminist principles. We discussed getting married and decided that, on our life path, it was a good choice . I always said I didn't want an engagement ring; however, something called me to this ring and from the moment it was on my finger I knew I had to have it. I like to imagine it belonged to some inspiring woman whose wisdom is passed on to me when I wear it.
My actual wedding ring is my grandfather's. I've written before about some of the crazy dynamics of my family. My grandfather is not my dad's biodad. He married my grandmother and adopted my dad when my father was eight. My dad sorta hated him, but also loved him, until the day he died.
And from the day my family met my husband, they were comparing us to my grandparents, whose marriage was dysfunctionally blissful. Their rings have their initials and their wedding date inscribed inside (which I'm sure will confuse the hell outta The Husband when he forgets our anniversary!) - DLV to JOF 10-19-63. My grandmother, a divorced woman with a son, gave this ring to my grandfather, a single WWII vet, nearly 46 years before my husband, a divorced man with a son, gave this ring to me. They were married for over thirty years before my grandmother died, prematurely, of pancreatic cancer in their home. Pop never really got over the loss.
After my grandmother died, my grandfather took off his wedding ring, joined it to hers with a red twist-tie and hid them in his sock drawer. I found them 14 years later, upon his death, just as he left them. I gave my grandmother's ring to my brother, whom Grandma, on her deathbed, requested receive the ring. I gave Grandma's diamond to my mother, who always wanted a diamond of her own. And I put Papa's ring in my jewelry box for safekeeping.
After we had set a date for our nuptials, we decided Papa's ring was perfect for my wedding ring. I brought it to our local jeweler and had it polished and resized for my ring finger. On our wedding day my husband slid it onto my finger and there it remains until it is faithfully twist-tied to it's mate some day long down the line.

I am super Type A in many ways, with my need for lists and routine and every thing in it's right place. I dig symmetry, love order and NEED things to fit together. So you can imagine that doing this whole stepfamily thing throws me for a wobbly on a daily basis. Likewise, my rings don't stack neatly on top of each other on my finger. They are not sautered together (I do several sports and need to remove the emerald ring often). They twist and turn and sometimes the damn emeralds stab me. This annoys the crap out of me, until I take a moment to look at my rings. The cool green of the emeralds calms me and, as they catch the light, I smile. I look at my wedding band and remember the love of my grandparents, a love I could physically feel when I was in the room with them.
I remember that not everything has to fit together perfectly to be wonderful.
From these two rings, recycled with a purpose, I gain resolve to stick to my vows and to make this marriage fulfilling for both of us, forever. The legacy of my grandparents gives me wisdom and strength, in marriage and, particularly in a second marriage.