For those of you old enough to remember silver rings splattered across the eight fingers of your right and left hand, you will probably remember the spoon ring. Artisan crafters craft them today out of spoons, actual silver spoons, but their history dates back much further than that.
In 17th Century England, the spoons were crafted by servants who stole the spoons from their master’s homes. Out of the silver spoons, they crafted wedding bands because they could not afford a true wedding band. There is also a Welsh custom of “spooning” the one you love. by commissioning a spoon or carving one to give to the one you love. As a piece of value, with the crest of the family engraved, it became easier to identify the thief as this loving, yet criminal act became more common place.
Although it feels that way some days, I am certainly not old enough to remember the crime of the day being the theft of a spoon turned into an act of love. My memories are from the more recent past. I remember my own spoon ring as a child of the 70’s. Nails painted a brownish sort of color, in platform sandals, my own spoon ring was one of many rings that I loved. No specific meaning that I knew or or cared to know. It sat by my silver and abalone butterfly ring.
It is a beautiful memory of times gone by… a simpler time, a free thinking, unencumbered time.
Like most styles, the spoon ring has reappeared. Some say that if you are old enough to wear it the first time, you should let it go the next time it come around. I think there might be some merit to that, but not this time.
I have written about this in passing, but today, it is all important to me. I am a sufferer of Fibromyalgia, a nondescript, all touching disease which has only recently been given the dignity to have a real cause. Currently, and only recently dignified to be an actual disease of the Central Nervous System, it was once thought to be the moaning complaints of women like me who complained a lot. They weigh too much… they are divorced, or suffer from depression, so they think they are in pain. They can’t work, insert eye roll, even though they don’t look sick… it’s in their heads… this invisible illness is beautifully explained by the the Spoon Theory. Once I read this, it became possible, at least for my children to explain why I hurt.
When you suffer from Fibromyalgia, the sensation of pain is so magnified, that a friendly poke in the arm from my teasing son would make my eyes water up, and me scream out that he doesn’t need to play so rough. I am so sorry for all the times I have said something like that. They now understand. We hug a little more, and poke a little less these days…. but where the spoon theory actually is priceless for me is when the tiredness makes me feel like an empty gas tank. Mommy is out of spoons is all I need to say.
Back to the spoon ring… this revival of the fashions of my childhood has now become a symbol for me to wear daily. I searched and searched until I found one that resembled my beloved ring that was lost somewhere along the journey of my life. I purchased it, and carefully adjusted it with jewelry pliers to find just the right size. Normally rings hurt my hands too much, so I pass on them.
In an attempt to remember my youth, I have paired it with a simple set of intertwined bands that symbolize my children. I wear them as a reminder to myself to slow down. When I look at my hand, I remember the meanings… I gave it to myself as a symbol of love for myself, but I wear it as a reminder to simply slow down when I need to.
Sadly, it wasn’t given in love from another, but it all really starts with self-love, doesn’t it?
So, whether or not, you suffer from chronic pain, or you just need a reminder to yourself to slow down and refresh yourself, or smell the roses, find a symbol that means something to you.
No one needs to know. I wear the ring, and I look stylish like the cool mom but I know what it means, and that is all that really matters.