Wednesday, 17 October 2012


I have this ring, it is large with a dark red stone and made out of sterling silver. You know, the sort you might buy down Camden Market for a fiver. I didn't get it from a market however, I bought it in India 13 years ago, from a couple selling their wares on the side of the road near Manali. I liked it, I didn't love it, and after the trip where I was hoping to find myself - I didn't - the ring was designated to the drawer and lived a life among trinkets and beads from far corners of the earth. They must have had plenty to talk about.

About a year ago I was rifling through old jewellery bits, ankle chains and belly chains, beads home-made from Fimo, tarnished silver and tangled necklaces, when I came across my large red ring. I put it on my middle finger, next to my wedding band, and there it stayed. I didn't like it any more than before, I didn't love it, it didn't remind me of India but there it stayed. Too big to ride horses in, too cumbersome to garden in and enormous to swim in - but it survived all three pursuits.

I had a few comments on the ring, mostly from hippy types. Only a few weeks ago someone told me it was a  so-and-so stone (sorry, I really can't remember) and it was the stone you wear when you need grounding. I looked at the ring and thought, "Ha, well there you go, may be I needed grounding this last year."

And then a few nights ago it fell off, just like that, while I was eating a bowl of pasta. My 13 year old ring decided to un-ground me. And now I'm all a jitter.

So if my ring is not going to keep me grounded from now on then I guess I'd better do it myself - but I'm tempted to get it mended, just in case.

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