It was bound to happen. He wore it a bit on the loose side, he took it off for climbing, cycling, and when it bothered his finger, and we'd never gotten around to finding a neck-cord for it. Steve's wedding ring, that is. His huge, gold, elvish-inscribed wedding ring, which he lost while inner-tubing in Boulder Creek on Saturday.
Steve was pretty devastated by the loss, so he hired a search-and-rescue diver to hunt for it last night. After four hours of combing the creek bed in the area in which Steve thought the ring had dropped, they called off the search.
While the ring was custom-designed and the Tengwar engraving was hand-done, it is replaceable. The local jeweler who made it assures me that he has all the information from my original order and can recreate the ring without much ado. Perhaps we will have a ceremony of sorts when the new ring arrives. Maybe I can even wear my wedding dress and get my hair done and hire a band and get a giant decadent cake and convince my girlfriends to dress up in matching outfits and . . . well, OK, maybe not. But we'll do something to make the moment memorable, even if it can't quite measure up to that magical day, just about 11 months ago.
And maybe, just maybe, years and years from now, a furry-footed Hobbit will pluck something shiny from the riverbed . . . .