Nearly 55 years ago I bought my wife a wedding band at Beale AFB, California. As the decades stacked up behind us she gained some weight and it had to be cut off. She took home the ring plus a chunk of gold about 1/8 inch long. Throughout the years I’ve waited for the time when it was important enough to have it reworked, keeping the two in small, separate zip-lock bags.
Monday evening that time arrived.
The following morning we took everything to a jeweler. He said he couldn’t use the original piece and that was okay. A couple of hours later he called and said the ring was ready.
He did a fine job. Barb was very happy. But the piece of gold was missing.
“Oh, I had a drawer open. It flipped into the drawer with a bunch of other stuff,” he said.
“Okay. Let’s look for it,” I suggested.
“It’ll take some time.”
“That’s okay. I have time.”
Later that afternoon he called and said he had Barb’s piece of gold.
I really hate to think he was trying to make off with it, but it was in a bag of its own and he’d already told us he couldn’t use it
How did it get into the drawer?
When I bought the band for her a half-century ago that small piece might have been worth a couple of bucks. But now it might be worth thirty or forty.
Now it’s in our little safe along with a quarter-ounce given to us by our son-in-law a decade ago.
Who knows, maybe one day it will keep the wolf at bay one more day.