My husband made all four of our wedding rings. One for him, three for me. The first two he made the morning we flew off to Italy to get married in 2009. I watched and waited. We had been together long enough for me to know that we respond to pressure much differently. It is amazing that he always gets stuff done on time. Holding those work hours, I never would.
It was a while before I realized the rings were made of welding rod. Bronze (love turquoise). They are simple lines that wrap around our fingers two and a half times. The first of the four was pure experiment. That was my Rome ring. Where the spiral band ended between the ring finger and the two on either side was too short. It should have gone a quarter of an inch more towards the palm side of the hand. Then the three lines on the front would be complete. He knew he had to change it when we got back from Rome. He hammered it some more, the metal got too thin, and it broke. Have no idea where it is now. That was ring number one.
Ring number two solved the design problem. Now the ring was, so to speak, in my hands. That’s where trouble starts. I am hard on things. I try to do too much, too quickly. Stuff gets beaten up or lost. It really is a terrible characteristic. Glenn is the total opposite. When we met, he had an old cycling team uniform from age 14 in his trunk. All beautifully embroidered. I started using it for running in the winter and then painting interiors. Poof! It was gone in a year. Terrible.
Don’t know when ring number two was lost. You see, when gardening, gloves just don’t work for me. Nor when laying bricks, which is what I have been doing all this week. I had been taking my ring off in the kitchen before going out to work. Glenn noticed. But in the early days of ring number two, I did not take care. It was lost either in a garden or down the drain, we thought. Oh well, we have lots of welding rod. Glenn made ring number three. That is the ring that was taken off and left in the kitchen last week.
So the other day we were making the bed. The bottom sheet was so tight that we had to pick up the mattress and bend it to get all four corners in. Glenn picked up the mattress, and what I saw left me speechless. Ring number two was sitting in the middle of the box spring, all alone, as if waiting for a princess to lay down and test the mattress. My mouth opened, but nothing could come out!
How in the hell did it get there? Some other sheet changing time? When we first erected the bed in the new bedroom? Who knows.
I have chosen to wear ring number two. Its design is slightly better. Glenn thinks we should put number three back under the mattress, and he is right. It feels good to have a wedding ring under where you sleep.