What's in a ring?

I want to tell you the story of my two rings. But I have no time. This month, when I am not working I am presenting in Atlantic City and Chicago, or I am writing and writing. So much to get done and so little time because all seems to be happening in November. I wanted to tell the story about how, when I was 25, I was urged to sell my engagement ring so that there would be enough money for me to go to therapy. And how, that beloved ring was replaced by a kind in-law with a visit to a gallery to purchase any ring of my choice. And after that, 15 years later, I gave that same ring to a young woman as a graduating gift. She lost it and then had two rings made with the same type of bloodstone, one for her and one for me.

I wanted to tell how, 26 years later, after Charlie died, I felt deserving enough to buy an antique ring as a gift to myself for setting about writing my first book. I think of it now, five years later, perhaps because I am headed to Chicago this week, and that is where I first met Danny.

But, I simply do not have the time because each of these stories are long and full of all kinds of meaning, especially connected to the amazing and wonderful kindness of strangers.

So, I thought I would mention them anyway just because this was on my mind when I woke up an hour earlier than usual.

Comments

[tamarika]

Tamar,
Your comment is like a pearl! Thank you.

[tamar]

Nice, Tamar. These are the fabulous stories that live inside, gestating, like grains of sand, emerging decades later as pearls and enlightening the storyteller and the listener/reader. I wish I had the courage to write such a post. And this kind of sharing is "easy" (oh yeah?) — no major bloodletting (oh yeah?) and "in public" (yeah!). Good travels to you in this busy month.