This touching story spoke to so many parts about the brooklyn store and how much it had touched peoples lives. Aliza and I realized that our parents had indeed known each other during that funky period of history known as the 60's. We love Aliza wears this ring now, a little big for her, but surrounded with the bands that were her grandmother's.
Here is Aliza's story:
This is my mom’s wedding ring purchased at the Clay Pot in the early spring of 2000, a few weeks before she died from Multiple Myeloma. In fact, we chose it together, although not exactly at the same time. My mom was dying but uncharacteristically forlorn that she had little precious jewelry of her own to pass onto me, her daughter, and perhaps one day a future grandchild. You see, she was an artist and printmaker born and educated in Brooklyn, and often worked with acids and toxic materials, such as mica powders. Many years earlier, in 1968, she and her feminist MFA colleagues from Pratt displayed their artwork in a storefront gallery they founded on the corner of Berkeley and Seventh Avenue, utilizing the large basement for studio space. Not surprisingly, my mother’s first wedding band from my father had disintegrated soon after their nuptials in 1966 from all the products she handled. (Their marriage, however, stayed intact.) In a rather desperate state, she miraculously found the ‘perfect’ ring at the CP — rhythmic, geometric modules interspersed with tiny diamonds and set in a matte platinum band. And she knew I would love it as well. My then-fiancé (now husband) and I had decided to postpone our planned summer wedding due to her rapid decline. Already in hospice, I borrowed a ring mandrel from the Clay Pot and eventually brought the sized band to her, which she wore for a short time until the day I inherited it. It’s too large for me, so I nest it among my grandmother’s slender bands. Motherhood is a gift, and I intend to pass this ring onto my beautiful daughter, Hannah, who is named in Hebrew after my mother, Gail. #claypotstory