There's something very emptying about going to reach for your wedding ring....only to realize it's not there. It's only happened twice in the 8 1/2 years I've had it.
The first time, when my routine reach on the second shelf left my hand only patting and searching, I almost instantly remembered I had made the careless mistake of leaving it on the kitchen counter the day before during a Betty Crocker session. I double-timed it to the kitchen....only to find nothing. No ring. And no idea where else to look.
And almost instantly, it's like this crazy tick-like app was installed in me. My eyes started jumping from one spot to another, each time expecting to find my jewel. I would lurch forward to grab it, but I was grabbing at nothing. And when it wasn't there, the next spot my eyes found held just as much hope. It felt like it was so close. I expected to see it as I looked in places I had never even seen before- on top of my fridge, behind the dishwasher, in that one nook I didn't even know existed before that day. You know the feeling, don't you?....you start feeling CRAZY! Every where I turned, I was sure I had just laid eyes on my diamond. I just knew it was going to materialize, similar to the old trick Dad used to amuse us with for hours on end....magically pulling the old quarter out of our ears. No explanation of how it got there or how he found it. That's the mentality that instinctively took over.
I prayed so hard. I really wanted to find that ring. And I just knew I would. There was no way I wouldn't find it.
And I really believed that to be the truth. There was no way it was gone. No way.
Until I realized....it had been stolen. It was gone. It wasn't coming back to my naked finger. It took a couple days for my new scanning instinct to accept that fact and disable itself.
But this weekend, when I reached for my ring and was met with NOTHING, I instantly fell back into CRAZY scanning mode. Looking under every piece of jewelry I owned, checking the only drawer I've ever guarded it in about a hundred times over, looking in places in the car I only just discovered on my search.
It was no where. I remembered taking it off standing right there in front of my bathroom mirror like I do everyday. And I hadn't made any cookies. And I can't remember what I did two hours ago, let alone two days ago, so I knew it....I was out of luck. It was gone. It wasn't coming back.
I was sick to my stomach.
Have you ever bought the small watermelons? Can we take a moment and talk about them....They're awesome, amazing. Contrary to their big version, they're rather easy to pick out. You just kinda make sure there's a bit of a brown patch on it and BOOM TIME you got yourself a winner. There is no knocking, no giving it a roll, and most importantly....no disappointment. They're always that nice full-red color you're looking for, denoting the equally full flavor. Luscious. Buy a small one and I guarantee it'll raise your melon-picking confidence level like ten notches.
And it doesn't stop there. When it comes to cutting time, I get all kinds of cocky. Gone are the days of awkwardly trying to battle the big ole watermelons. Oh no, I cut that melon in half and get to slicing and dicing all nice and neat and uniform. This is usually when I start announcing, "Yosh don't you worry.....if you ever lose your job, I'll take care of us. I got skillzzzzz." Because I KNOW I could have my little road-side fruit stand with the best of those cute little Latin fruit-istas. That's how good my watermelon looks. In crunch time, our family will survive off of my small-watermelon picking and cutting skills.
Thursday I cut open my first tasteless watermelon. I never saw it coming.
Late Friday night, Deeter came gifting me something from his dresser-top truck.
"Mama, it's so pretty."
And there he held my ring that I was sure I'd lost forever.