Thursday, April 19, 2012
When we got engaged my ex bought my first ring from my grandma. I believe she had that one stashed between two wash cloths in the linen closet. It was a gold band with a tiny diamond. I still have it. Ten years later he bought a bigger one from my mother, who was now in charge of the stash. She had upgraded the system from hidden toilet paper bundles, to a built in hidden safe, and don't ask me where it is because I can't tell you. Is it just us Jewish people or does everyone believe that the Orkin man was put on this Earth mainly to steal our jewelry?
The new ring, consisted of the old diamond surrounded by an eternity band of little diamonds. Let's just clarify that in this case, eternity means forever OR until someone with better hair and bigger boobs comes along, whichever comes first. In my case, of course, the latter proved true.
Now, I happen to know that this ring was purchased way after Giselle was. Little did I know it was really more of an "FYI, I have decided to date other people" ring, than an "I love you so much, thank you for these beautiful children, and how do you stay so pretty and skinny" ring. My mistake.
So here it is April 13th, I am looking at this ring, and then I am looking at this tax bill and I am thinking..hmmm, I think I hear Grandma Evie telling me to go the the International Diamond Source in Clearwater and sell the ring so that I can pay my taxes and stay out of prison for another year. Yes she is definitely coming through loud and clear, "Go mamala go."
Grandma Evie used to put on a back brace, pin the toilet paper bundles to it and then, wear like three shirts, when she had to travel with her jewelry. I felt safe throwing the ring into the change section of my wallet and heading down US 19.
I enter the Source For all That is Diamonds, or whatever, after being buzzed in through three doors. Um excuse me, do you not see you are on Roosevelt Blvd between the Taco Bell and McDonalds? Who are you trying to kid? But I play along. I put on my saddest "I need to sell something but I am not white trash" face and a young girl points me to a desk.
There a lovely gentleman named Greg greets me. His white beard and wire framed glasses have a calming effect on me. He speaks in soft tones as he holds the ring in his fingers and puts it beneath a magnifying loop. "Have you gotten other estimates?" he inquires in his kindly baritone. "Some," I reply in my attempt to sound knowledgeable. "I know it is very a very emotional experience to sell a ring like this," he said and that's when it happened. I began to cry.
Looking at that ring, resting on a velvet tray, brought emotions right up to the base of my throat. Some of the sadness was for my now RIP marriage, the kids, the baseball games, the nightly homework, the day to day being that we shared as a couple and then as a family.
Greg told me that the diamond was very flawed, as it had been cut in the 1800's. It would need to be shaved and re-cut to fit into a modern setting. I figured that diamond had probably come into Grandma Evie's possession sometime in the 60's, right around the same time I entered her life. Now look at the two of us, both flawed and needing re-cutting in order to forge ahead.
When Greg told me that the eternity diamond part of the ring was basically useless and would be cut away from the old, flawed diamond, that's when I knew it was time to let go, eternity was definitely over in this case. Let this flawed diamond be transformed into a new symbol of love for another couple who may be lucky and get it right.
I stuck the check down into my purse, went through the drive-thru, got two taco supremes (yes two,) and headed home. I took comfort in the fact that I still had several beautiful pieces of jewelry that Grandma E had given me that I knew I would never part with. They were safely stashed in plastic baggies in the bottom of my underwear drawer. Toilet paper is so expensive these days.
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