Ring Toss

Two weeks ago Mom decided to go through her jewelry. "I want a jeweler to clean and check my rings."

"I can take them to a jeweler for you," I offered.
"No, not you," said she. "I'll ask Margo. She'll know a jeweler that I can trust."
Margo is our daughter.

"I can't find that good cameo ring," she added, matter-of-factly.

The next day (Thursday) I found her sitting on her bed combing worriedly through a pile of necklaces. "I can't find my wedding and engagement rings," she said. "I know I put them back in that little box, but they're not there." She hasn't worn her rings for years. It's hard for her to push them past her enlarged knuckle, and once they're on, they feel too loose. I looked around near the dresser where the "little box" is kept and found the "good cameo" under her bedside table.

Thursday evening, Friday, and Saturday we searched for the missing rings. The engagement ring was a large emerald set off by diamonds; the wedding band had a row of diamonds. We went through drawers, we moved furniture, we lifted cushions, we took the bed apart, we went through pockets. Have you any idea how many wadded-up Kleenexes old ladies carry around in their pockets? I pulled apart stacks of wadded-up Kleenex and even dissected clumps of kitty litter. We delayed putting a weeks' worth of trash out so that I could go through that.

The Sunday after the rings first went missing Mom told our daughter that she had lost them on Saturday. She added that she had wrapped them in white paper and secured them with a rubber band before returning them to their box.

She hasn't accused me of stealing them. Yet.

She is sure that they will turn up because "they have to be in here somewhere." I hope she is right.