While we were in San Diego:

“Your ring!”

What about my ring?

“Your ring!” she couldn’t get over it.  Then, finally, “Conway had that ring!”

I explained that during one of the times I’d been very ill my more standard wedding ring didn’t fit anymore and I’d started wearing this one, since my husband didn’t mind: four turquoise stones, one for each of our children. (I didn’t add, and the fact that it needs to be polished and paid attention to to keep its shine I find to be a good reminder.)

Conway had had that exact same ring, and clearly he wore it enough that she remembered it.

Wow. I had no idea.

And then my daughter-in-law’s aunt went on to tell me a story to match my own: her father, as a young dad, had been a reporter in the next county and happened to come and take a picture near the university here of an adorable little boy and his daddy; it got published in the paper.

A couple decades later, he found himself telling her, Wait, that name rings a bell…

She married that little boy. And that daddy was Conway.