The Ring.

Before I dive into this tale, let me just go ahead and get this part out of the way - yes, I know it's a first world problem, I realize in the grand scheme of many, many things my forth-coming frustrations don't matter really at all, it's simply a material object, and yes, I also realize that I'm going to start this story by telling you how I was spending a weekend on Nantucket, one of the most well-to-do areas of New England.  Alright, now that those disclaimers are out of the way; let's begin.

I spent last weekend on Nantucket.  For those unfamiliar, it's an island off of the Cape - a bit further out than Martha's Vineyard.  It is a beautiful, rather exclusive island of the well-to-do and the well heeled.

I had been there one other time in my life, about a million years ago when I took the ferry over with my then-boyfriend for his cousin's wedding.  It's funny to me now, he and I did not really plan that weekend well. I don't remember seeing much of the island itself, I recall only being in town for breakfast with his family the day after the wedding before we caught the ferry home. Ah, but we were kids.  (And broke kids at that.)

Anyway.  I have a friend who has been taking herself out to ACK, as the locals say, quite a bit this summer and a few months ago she asked if I would like to come along one weekend.  Seeing as I'd never (truly) been and I like a good summer get-away weekend as much as the next girl I quickly agreed.  My friend took the reins in planning; finding us an Inn, sorting out the best restaurants to try, pointing me to the prettiest shops in town.  Despite my latent stressed, anxious, and bummed out mood that's been hanging around my heart this summer, I was happy for the change of scenery, grateful for the nice weather, and thankful for my sweet friend who is a good and well-matched travel companion.

On Saturday night after dinner, Kate and I walked past a little boutique that she had wanted to show me.  We expected it to be closed, it was 9:30 after all, but to our surprise it was open.  "Oh, we have to go in! It's totally your style!" she exclaimed to me when she found the store door unlocked.  And she was right.  The store could have been my closet.  Well, a much cleaner and better organized version of my closet.  We browsed among the racks of dresses, oohing and aahing at some of the prettiest choices and as Kate stopped to admire a top folded on a shelf I wandered over to the front counter where their jewelry was displayed.

Now.  If you know me or have ever traveled with me you know that statement rings are, well, kind of my thing that I always buy on adventures.  I love them.  Adore them.  They say that we are drawn to "our style" and things that make "our look" over and over again.  Fun rings are, genuinely, one of my favorite style things.  I have a drawer full of costume cocktail rings I have purchased throughout the years and what I love about them - beyond the pretty, obviously - is the story behind each one.  "Oh, this one I bought in Ireland at a craft fair in Dublin.  Oh, this one here was bought in Seville from a little hole in the wall shop that I discovered while my friends were napping back in our tiny hotel room.  Etc.  Etc."

As Kate was debating aloud if she should splurge on the top that had caught her eye, I was eyeing something myself.  A ring, naturally; one that caught my attention as soon as I saw it.  It had two stones, each the exact two shades of blue I fancy the most given all the shades of blue I love.  It fit my finger perfectly and was understated enough for everyday wear yet still had enough pizazz to be the ideal pop in an outfit.

But, I'd spent a good chunk of change already over the weekend (Nantucket is many things and cheap is certainly not one of them) and had already treated myself to a bracelet earlier in the day.  I set the ring back down, told myself if I was still thinking about it in the morning that I could come back and get it.  Kate and I walked across the street to another open shop and she pulled some clothes into a dressing room.  As I waited for her, I sat, thinking about that ring.  As the clerk rang up her purchases I thought about that ring.  As she stood in the doorway of the store texting one of her friends I thought about that ring. Finally I announced that I wanted to go back just to look at it again that same night.

When I tried it on for the 3rd time in a matter of an hour, I thought to myself, oh just do it, Kelli.  It's not going to break your bank.  Happy new job/congratulations on your MBA/you are gonna make it through this crazy summer/find your way back to you/heal your heart present to me!  Do you know those moments when you make a purchase and as soon as the item is yours you can't stop grinning?  Well, that was me.  I was so happy with it, so pleased I'd found it, I could already picture myself smiling down at it while I typed away on my laptop at my new job.

Kate and I made our way back to the Inn, ready to call it a night.  I set my ring, still in it's little jewelry pouch the store had given me, beside my toiletries bag and the aforementioned bracelet and climbed into bed.  The next morning, after coffee and croissants and a morning bike ride, Kate and I came back to our room to pack up and check out.  I gathered all of my belongings into my suitcase, with Kate even commenting how neat of a packer I was.  I grabbed my ring in it's pouch and said to Kate, "let's admire my ring again before we go to the beach."  I put it on my hand, we both exclaimed how perfect it was for me.  Then I took it off my finger, slid it back into the pouch, and tucked that pouch in the bigger bag my bracelets had come in. "Wouldn't want to lose this baby," I joked.  "I haven't even had a chance to properly debut my new love yet!"

(I believe this is the part of the story where your grade school teacher would pause for a lesson in foreshadowing.)

We checked out of our Inn, stowing our bags with the Innkeepers for the few hours we had left before our ferry back to the mainland.  Kate and I biked to the beach, biked back to town, grabbed an ice cream cone, and then grabbed our luggage.  I was off on an evening ferry and she was off to stay another night on the Island in a different location.  We bid farewell, talking about what a nice weekend we'd had.  Cape traffic is most certainly a thing on a Sunday in August and it took over two hours to get back home.  I crashed as soon as I dumped my bags in my apartment and before I knew it my Monday morning alarm was greeting me.  As I got dressed and ready for my day I decided it was the day to debut my new jewelry. I reached into my luggage and pulled out the pouch with the bracelets in it (which, if you've been following along is ALSO where the ring was tucked away).  The bracelets?  All there, just as they should be.

The ring?

Totally.
Completely.
GONE.

Gone!
My brand new, stunning, destined to be a forever favorite, still had the damn price tag on it, ring was GONE.

I didn't panic right away, thinking it must have surely just fallen on the floor without my realizing it or was mistakenly tucked in the suitcase still.  NOPE.

Running late for work by now I did a quick sweep with no luck and felt miserable but consoled myself on my walk to the T that I just needed more time to look when I came home at the end of the day.  The bracelets were all right there.  So SURELY the ring was somewhere.  It had to be!

I have been home from ACK for three days now. I have ransacked my luggage and my purse at least 600 million times.  I've checked every corner, reached into every pocket. I've shaken out the clothes I wore on the island, I've checked and rechecked everywhere I can think, finding pockets I didn't even know existed before.

Still, nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

I ruled out theft simply because a) it would have been VERY hard work to quickly find the bag I'd tucked the ring and bracelets into and b) why on earth would you steal the ring but not the bracelets? If someone had wanted to steal something they'd have grabbed the whole tan canvas jewelry bag - bracelets and all - and called it a day.

No, no.

This ring, this beautiful - oh I wish you could see it! - ring has just completely up and vanished.
And I am totally and completely bummed about it.

I've explained already how stunning I thought this ring was. Naturally I am very, very sad it will never see the light of day on my finger.  But more than that, this ring was such a treat to myself, I'd let myself splurge as a treat after the crazy work I've done over the last few years, the stress over my old job, and taking the leap to a new one.  Sure, some might say I put too much stock into a material item I'd only just found 24 hours before.  But I think you all know what I mean, what this ring meant. For we do this for ourselves sometimes, don't we?  It's a balm we occasionally need - allowing ourselves a special treat, it's value far outweighing the actual cost.