Panic and White Knuckles

I don’t know if I should title this entry, “Panic” or “White Knuckles”.

After falling asleep while trying to watch the National Finals Rodeo… I awoke to a dog’s snuffling nose at my bedside.

Grabbing ten more seconds of warmth, I tossed back the covers and glanced at my windows. No rim of frost. Good. That meant it was a “warm” winter day… 20 or 30. Ten and below decorated the windows on those “cold” winter days.

I needed to be off to Worland, grabbing the Festival of Trees wreath from the Ten Sleep library.

Coffee-ed.

Showered.

Dressed.

Packed.

A last minute glance in the mirror, and I reached for some different earrings. And my mom’s diamond ring.

While I love jewelry, I tend to stick to some basic ones around here. Not overly expensive, but tending to match the blues and greens I find myself wearing these days. I switched to silver hoop style earrings of my mom’s. And I reached for the ring.

I grabbed a gold hoop earring instead.

Laughing at my poor eyesight, I squinted into the box where I ALWAYS store the ring.

The ring.

A band of gold nuggets… bought when we lived in Alaska. I remember the nuggets originally being rough and uneven, now worn smooth from years and years and years of wear. Welded to it, a thin simple band, purchased years later, holding a one carat diamond that sparkled over the nuggets.

I remember the phone call from my mom.

“You’ll NEVER guess what your dad just bought me.”

Now a junior in college, I had a pretty good idea of what my dad considered impractical. “Well,” I wrinkled my brow, “It’s either a brand new car or a diamond. I’m guessing… a car?”

“You’d be wrong!” I could hear the smile in her voice. The sincere LOVE that she had for my dad.

“Really? A DIAMOND?”

“YES!”

“So, like, is it big?”

“Oh, my. Very. Probably too big.”

Then a sigh, that told me more volumes about their Love.

That ring.

The ring that was no longer in my jewelry box.

A twinge built in my gut, but I forced it down. It had to be there. I’m so paranoid about losing it, I wear it only to town and take it off when I walk back in my own door. I check it constantly in town to make sure it’s there on my finger.

I grabbed the box, which holds my favorites and dumped it on the bed.

Earring.

Necklace.

Bracelet.

No ring.

“Oh, God.”

Panic.

I looked again.

“Oh, God.”

That was it. I was in full panic. I looked on my desk and moved items. Tossed papers. Moved a pile of junk. I found an earring. What? Then I noticed an earring on the floor. Had someone knocked my box off my desk? I slid my chair away from my desk and saw another earring. Then to the left… a glimpse of gold.

With tears streaming down my face, I reached and grabbed what my heart had feared was lost. I know it’s just a ring. It’s not Mom… it’s not Daddy… it’s just metal and a memory, but it is a gold and diamond link to my past.

I thanked God and slid it onto my finger and wiped my face and headed into town.

The roads were NASTY.

Since the guys kidnapped my Durango, I had to use Daniel’s Firebird.

Not really an all weather vehicle.

I drove 45 mph. In snow and ice and slush. And I hoped I hadn’t used up all my “Oh, God”s for one day! I arrived, white knuckled, and cranked down the level of tunes… the Casey Donahew Band had tried their best to distract my worries.

But I was safe, and with a sparkling ring on my finger, I set up our wreath display.