Yesterday morning I went with a couple of friends to visit our favorite potters, Mel and Kris Kunihiro, at a show in San Jose. Got home, got the hubby, got in our own car, and turned around and drove north and over the Golden Gate. As we went around Mt. Tamalpais, I mentally waved hi at my favorite author, Rachel Remen, who lives up there somewhere; I’ve met her. She’s as wonderful in person as she is in her writing. And then, on to the party.
Cajun sweet potatoes are definitely the way to go, and I want to know how they did that. Maybe a lace scarf bribe would help? Good food, good people all around, good times.
It wasn’t till we’d been home awhile that I noticed. I’d known for awhile that it was probably going to happen at some point. I’d lost weight, it had gotten awfully loose, and at some point yesterday my ring went flying off. (I can only hope it didn’t clog the sink at my husband’s boss’s house.) I have not the slightest clue where or when it went, only that I’d had it on in the beginning of the morning.
I’m not much of a jewelry person, but I liked that one: four turquoises, the birthstone of both me and my mother, one to symbolize each of my kids. Sterling silver, which stays bright and lovely only if you keep it shining by paying attention to it–I thought that was a good way to symbolize a relationship. It was my substitute for my wedding ring, back when the IV steroids had puffed my hands out so much that I couldn’t wear the original anymore. The steroids proved useless, and I never have to take them again. But I was in the habit of wearing that turquoise ring by then, and that was fine with Richard, so, for over three years, I did.
San Jose to San Rafael. There is no way to know. All I can do is hope that it’s in good shape, wherever it is, and that whoever finds it loves that handmade piece as much as I do, and that it fits them. That would be so cool.