How Odd Is That?

I really love wearing jewellery. I always have, from the time I was a child, and began to notice such things. I'd be entranced, seeing a woman wearing jewellery, captivated not only by the jewellery itself, but by the manner in which, I felt, wearing that jewellery enhanced the woman's features, her femininity.

I grew up appreciative of baubles, although it took quite a long time, before I ever acquired any of my own. And when I did, it was after I met the young boy who would, not all that much later in time, become my husband.

Both fourteen years old when we met, we had much in common. The most significant commonality being our attraction to one another. My first meaningful piece of jewellery was a silver chain appended to which was a flat silver square onto which was inset a small marquisette-encrusted Star of David, over mother-of-pearl.

I can still recall our having gone swimming of a hot summer day with friends, in a still, blue lake, when the suspended treasure around my neck was still a new experience, and I was loathe to immerse myself. He laughed, when I said I feared losing the chain and pendant, said not to worry, he would replace it. After that came a small gold ring set with an amethyst, a ring later worn by our daughter.

He gifted me with many small pieces of jewellery, all of which were immensely appreciated and enjoyed by me. About twenty years ago he bought a gold pinky ring that I'd admired. It had an unusual design; three swirls inset into which were six small diamonds. I've worn it non-stop for those two decades. Suddenly, two weeks ago, I noticed that one of the diamonds was missing.

Well, it's a mere possession after all, nothing that cannot be replaced, if need be.

I took it off, after so many years of wear, and set it aside, telling myself I'd think about what to do with it. Yesterday, I happened to be in our bathroom, wearing glasses, (which I don't ordinarily wear other than for reading) when I glanced down at a small area between the toilet and the bathtub, and saw something glinting there.

It's a grey-pink marble tile floor that he had laid down years ago, and between a low wall separating the bathtub and the toilet, sitting neatly in a slight dip of pale grey grout, there was the lost diamond. It could have fallen out anywhere; while I was gardening, while we were out hiking in the ravine, while we were out shopping, while I was seated in the car, while I was drawing woolly gloves off my hands.

To disappear, as a minuscule object, into the greater environment. But no, somehow, it had dislodged itself from the ring and fallen precisely there, where I now saw it. How it was possible that I might have washed the floor, vacuumed the small wool rug sitting beside the toilet pedestal, and not somehow scooped it up unknowingly, is beyond me. But there it sat, waiting for me to discover it.

Reminding me of the time that I suddenly became aware, last winter, looking in the mirror, that one of a pair of delicate gold earrings was missing. That was upsetting; they represented another gift from my husband, for one of my long-ago birthdays. Sadly, I removed the remaining earring, and substituted it for another, less valued pair that were intact.

And then, a month later, when I was letting one of our little dogs out to the backyard, I discovered it. Looking down on the threshold between the sliding glass doors, there was the earring. Sitting distinctly where any one of us, in our winter boots, might have trod on it, crushing it.

Or one of the little dogs might have had it impressed momentarily into their tender footpads, and taken it out to the deck, where it might have fallen between the deck boards, to be forever lost.