Field trips, as a college student are rare and usually not as fun as visiting a science museum when you're 8. And my trip to the hospice home my senior year for my psych class was no exception. I highly doubt that one of the last things Mimi Canning wanted before she died was a visit from 30 freaked out college kids, but none the less she got it.
We did perform one exercise though, that I still refer back to occasionally. My professor asked us to write a list of 5 items only - people or things - that we would want to take with us when we die. The usual suspects were on everyone's list: Mom, Dad, boyfriend/girlfriend, stuffed animal, BFF (there were a few variations). High up on my list was the ring you see above. It was formerly my great grandfather's, who's last name in German translated to "lion", who I assume wore it as a pinky ring to smooth out his creepy mustache. The next step of the exercise asked to cross off the items one at a time to see what we were left with.... I don't know what this means, but I was quick to (hypothetically) sacrifice people just to hang on to this ring. (Sorry Mom).
As it's one of the few heirlooms left on my grandmother's side of the family, it's the history I feel bound to. That, and the fact that it is the sickest ring I have ever seen. My little brother has been arguing since it was gifted to me 4 years ago that each sibling should have an equal amount of time with it. I have four siblings. No fucking way.
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