I’ve been writing this week about the saga of my golden wedding band that we bought at a pawn shop over thirty years ago. I shared how over a year ago I had to cut it off with a pair of pliers because my finger started swelling. The most recent installment on this little melodrama described Randa’s less than enthusiastic response to my purchase of a dark bronze-colored silicone ring. Apparently, matching the bathroom faucets and showerhead didn’t carry as much aesthetic influence as I had hoped.
I put the silicone ring back in its box for a few weeks. While it was safely tucked away from visual influence, I had a few conversations with Randa about the new ring. I pointed out the safety issues, that it wouldn’t cause my finger to swell and in the event of a particular type of mechanical situation, it would be much less likely to cause severe trauma to the finger.
I’ve been wearing my new rubber ring for several weeks now. Even though it’s not the same ring and looks nothing like the original, it still reminds me of the vows we made to each other thirty years ago. Vows even more precious today, vows whose substance is greater than their luster.