One Ring-y Ding-y

Remember how I'd cleverly avoided getting my rings stolen, or bitten off my fingers, whilst in South Africa? I took my jewelry off and put everything in the safe about a month before the robbery. I felt pretty damn smug about the whole thing, especially after the hold-up. Mr. D wasn't really thrilled, of course, but I wasn't paying much attention to his feelings in 2006, so that was just a minor detail. (Clearly no 2006 awards ceremony for me, celebrating my brilliance in "relationship building"!)

I put my wedding and engagement rings back on a year and a half later, in autumn 2007, shortly after deciding to rejoin Mr. D in Poland. It was important on so many different levels. I was celebrating my recovered feelings of personal safety, and I was reminding myself and others that, "yeah, I am still married, and want to stay that way." For better and for worse, and all that.

So imagine my ... irritation, shall we say... when, while standing in Edinburgh's airport this April, a plastic carrier bag suddenly slipped off my arm, and "PLING!", the diamond was ... gone! This was the sweet little diamond that Mr. D and I had chosen together 29-odd years ago, the diamond we had jointly paid off in monthly installments for over a year. A diamond that had gone through thick and thin, ups and downs, and had strangely enough managed to not get lost or stolen.

Now, due to my own carelessness and inattention, it was suddenly missing.

You can imagine the fascinating picture I made, lying flat on the floor, eyeballing the granite surface for this missing stone. All the airline folks were suddenly extremely interested in my plight. Lots of folk wandering around, eyes scouring the floor. (They never seem to be quite as helpful in other circumstances, but never mind.) Miss T was, naturally, quite distraught, as she slowly realized that here was yet another of my possessions that she would no longer have the opportunity to inherit upon my demise. Dang! Pity she has such an incompetent mother.

And poor Mr. D blamed himself. "Oh, it's because we were running late and you were stressed out! All my fault!" (All too true, but again, never mind.)

I blamed myself. "Why didn't I get the prongs checked every once in a while? Fer Pete's sake!"

And then we just sort of said, "Oh well. What can ya do? We still have each other... " And we looked into one another's eyes, and the music of the violins swelled, and rose petals drifted gently down from the landing on the second floor, and larks sang, and ... okay, not really. But you know what I mean.

Of course, life never slows down, so in April I went to Poznan. In May I travelled to Luxor, Cairo, and Vienna. In June we spent time in London for Miss T's graduation. In July I went to Krakow.

In August, after unpacking my suitcase for the umpteenth time, I woke up one sunny morning and slitted open my eyes. And there on the bedroom floor was a tiny sliver of glass. Hmmm.

I picked it up, and looked. It looked like a diamond. My diamond. That diamond.

Pulled the empty ring setting out of my jewelry box. Same size. Hmmmm again.

And I took it to the jewelry shop in the afternoon.

"Ummmm, this may or may not be a diamond," I said, as I described the details of the find.

The Polish goldsmith raised one eyebrow, and pulled out an odd little machine. He touched a needle to the stone, and after a moment, a green indicator lit up.

"Lady, you oughta play the Lottery today."

So what happened? Who knows? I think it fell into the outside pocket of my suitcase. I think it traveled with me to all those places. I think it finally fell out of the suitcase at home in my bedroom.

But I don't actually know.

What I do know is that I got it reset back into the same setting, and I wear it all the time, and every time I look at it I think how incredibly lucky I am.

To be alive.

To have the wonderful Mr. D in my life.

And to get the same diamond given to me twice.

One lucky girl....