Many moons ago my first husband and I were living in Oregon, housesitting for an out-of-state new property owner. We lived in a twenty-something foot travel trailer with our two kids. I think it was a Sunday but the day doesn’t really matter; I had discovered my wedding and engagement rings were missing and became very upset. Not as freaked out as I would be when my current wedding ring broke, but that’s a story for another day. (See? I paid attention this time and I’m ready for installment two! Or maybe it’ll be three if I’m working chronologically.)
The rings weren’t worth much money but they symbolized something I valued – the bond of my marriage. We owned very little of substance back then – the clothes on our back and a car. Period. The trailer we lived in was part of my husband’s compensation for washing travel trailers at a dealership in town. When I couldn’t find my rings I insisted on looking everywhere we’d been that day. It may have been a Sunday because I seem to recall searching the gravel parking lot at the church. The memory is hazy; it was more than 30 years ago after all. I know we drove to town and searched that parking lot as well as the parking lot at the tiny grocery store / post office. When we finally gave up and went back to the trailer I was resigned to the rings being gone. I wasn’t happy about it, but there wasn’t much more I could do.
The trailer had an unexpectedly nice bathroom for its size. The bathroom was at the very back and stretched from side to side the full width of the trailer. It included a decent commode and a tub which was nearly large enough for an adult. I was much younger and more flexible back then and soaked in it occasionally, sitting with my knees up in order to fit. That evening was one of those times and while steeping in the hottest water available, I spotted something shiny in the shower door’s track – my wedding rings!
We eventually figured out how they’d ended up there. The day before I’d put them in the small change pocket of my jeans, probably while I was doing the dishes. Later, when I got ready for bed, I hung the jeans over top of the shower door while I washed up and brushed my teeth. The rings had fallen out of the pocket and landed in the track. Even though metal on metal should have made some sort of noise, I probably had the water running and wouldn’t have heard anything. But they were back!
From then on they rarely left my finger; I even kneaded bread dough without removing them; which is still another story.