I just found my missing ring, yes, less than a minute ago. I had looked for it in the exact same area for the past day, knowing it had been on the table with its "partners" just over that spot. Then it was gone. I wore two, rather than three rings on Shabbat. It felt missing. I could feel its lack on my finger, even though it's the thinnest of the three. I would take pictures of my hands to illustrate, but my nail polish needs redoing.
Suddenly, after pouring mug #2 of morning coffee, I looked down, and there it was on the floor, just waiting for me. Yes, like magic.
One can make a very spiritual inspiring story about it. I had rationalized to myself that "it's really not all that important." It's only a ring, and it's rather bent out of shape. Having lived so long on my middle finger, it has adoped the shape it needs, sort of like a sporty hat, rakishly off-center.
The ring was a gift from one of my kids. Actually, all of my rings have some sort of story attached.
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