So. Now my wedding ring has its own story.
My Beloved Mister lost his original wedding band -- we'd been married just over a year andwere returning south from one of our winter forays to his boyhood rural Michigan. As ever, we stopped at the dunes in Indiana along the old back highway. Hiked up and down 'em. Walked along the shores of the big lake. The dunes were icy and steep. When we got down the road a little ways, it became apparent that his band had stayed behind as hands plunged in and out of the sand! He was absolutely heartsick;I'll not forget the look on his face when he told me-- I was terrified of what was about to come out of his mouth as I'd never seen him look that way before.
Once I knew my man wasn't suffering from some terminal disease, the best thing of comfort Ms. Booty thought up to say was that like our pumpkin notes to the Universe, the ring became its own note and had returned to earth as a prayer of good will in one of our favorite places. Unless I've been completely hoodwinked, that really did help my Mister to feel a bit better, though it was months before we stopped being sick to our stomachs about it everytime it came up.
My Mister now wears a replacement band-- the original was purchased from the same jeweler as several of our beloved Titans use!-- the replacement is a slightly thicker white gold band than its predecessor and came from, of all places, Costco, where once upon a time I ran into one of the Brooks & Dunn guys near the big boxes of Cheerios; I do not know those fellas by name, but it was the blonde scarecrow looking gentleman. A very Nashville moment.
So my man's ring bears its own story and now mine, which had to be sawed off by a jeweler yesterday (thank you Chuck from Anthony on Elliston Place) awaits its resurrection as a full circle deal once the swelling has gone down and my hands are closer to normalcy.
In the meantime, Ms. Booty's ring finger is branded and Chuck the jeweler tells me it'll take weeks to heal.
I waited a bit too late, it seems. No surprise, that.