Precious

Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to you?

We always tried to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put you through

Things get damaged, things get broken
I thought we’d manage, but words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your hearts for two

Precious. Depeche Mode

Once upon a time, there was a ring. Oh, Lord! No, not THAT RING! No, just a simple little ring, probably not worth much but precious nonetheless. 

A slim, gold-plated band with a rectangular blue gem sitting flat on top. A simple design of swirls and leaves on each side of its head. The aquamarine stone held by a thin frame of gold metal, dotted with white and yellow specks—the beautiful imperfections of the Lapis Lazuli. Blue like the night sky: the stars, the moon, the Milky Way. A whole universe in a tiny rectangular space.

My parents’ engagement ring. Purchased sometime in the 1950s, though I am just guessing. Given to my mother by my father, probably for its beautiful colour. Maybe for its meaning of harmony, love and protection in any kind of relationship. I doubt it, though – I don’t think people were big into crystals back then. Especially my father – but who knows? I wish I could ask them.

Instead, I consult the internet. The blue Lapis Lazuli, so I learn, is one of the most precious and beautiful stones. It is the stone of friendship and relationships but also truth and honesty! Who knew? 

A semi-precious rock formed by several minerals: the white specks of calcium, the golden flecks of pyrite, and the deep blue colour of sodalite.

When my mother gave me her ring at my wedding, it became MY precious. I wore it every day, not paying much attention to the wear and tear of everyday life. I did not protect it from sharp dish soap or oily hand lotion, as they tell you – not even from the raw ground beef I sank my be-ringed hand into when making meatloaf. It took me a while to figure out, where that nauseating stench on my right hand came from. My precious ring desperately needed to be de-beefed!

Eventually, the bottom of the ring wore thin and broke apart. A jeweller in the local shopping mall in Toronto was able to fix it – re-shanking they call it. Such a massive word for something so small and delicate. 

The ring journeyed with me through time. From Germany to Canada to Australia and never left my finger. Until the blue stone in its middle couldn’t hold on any longer. One night it fell out of its metal band and was gone. Just like that. I had the whole pub crawling on their knees, trying to find the tiny little blue gem on the worn red carpet of the bar. But to no avail – the rock remained missing, and the golden casing now sat empty on my right ring finger. It felt like the last thing that had reminded me of my mother, was gone.

This made me think of my chiropractor Dr. Jack – a fixer not only of bad backs and stuffed-up knees but, as it turned out, of broken jewellery as well. I remembered him admiring my blue gemmed ring, and decided to give it a shot.

“How much would it cost, to have the stone on my mother’s ring replaced?” I inquired hesitantly.

“One hundred dollars? One thousand? One million? Is it even worth it? Will it cost me my soul?” 

“Your soul!” he replied dryly. “And of course it’s worth it – it’s your mother’s ring.”

And so I dropped off my precious ring at Dr. Jack’s clinic – it was on a rainy day in February. I remember because I slipped on the wet front step on my way out, thinking that was a great way of making new customers. But this wasn’t about me or my bruised tailbone – this was about my ring!

One month went by. Two. Once in a while, I would ask about my ring, only to get a vague answer of it still waiting to be cut…. Just when I was about to give up on my family heirloom, I received a message from Dr. Jack informing me that my ring was now in Bangkok, together with many other broken jewels, waiting to be fixed over there, for a much smaller price. Had I lost my ring forever? Or, much worse, had I indeed sold my soul? How much would this sentimental journey cost me? My ring had travelled to Thailand without me. What an amazing trip – I kind of wanted to be my ring.

And then, one day in May, I received a photo of my mother’s ring, all shiny and new, with a brand new blue gemstone in the middle! My ring was once again complete, and on its way back to Sydney (I wondered what class it would fly in? And how much this trip overseas would cost me?). 

It turned out that it did not cost me my soul. Or a million dollars. Just $100 and a good bottle of wine. 

When I picked up my ring from the clinic this week, it did look a bit different –  very polished and clean. The blue stone a little shinier and smooth. But when I put it on my finger, I could still see the night sky, and my mother giving me the ring on my wedding day for “something blue”.

They say, if you lose a crystal, wish it well on its journey (and what a journey this little bugger has had!). Hope that the person who finds it will benefit from its positive energy (the only thing that benefitted from my poor little lost gem was the vacuum cleaner that sucked it up in that bar the next morning).

They also say, if you lost a crystal and then find it again, that maybe you needed a little break from the crystal’s energy and that you are now ready for its good vibrations once again. 

So bring it on, little Lapis! Bring on the strength and the courage, the royalty and the wisdom, the intellect and truth and everything that this blue rock stands for. “If you like it, put a ring on it!” she said. I’m with Beyoncé on this one!

No, to be honest, I’m not a big believer in crystals and their energy. I just like the blue colour of the ring on my finger. How it reminds me of the blue of the ocean. The sky before sunrise. My mother. I like that this little ring went on a journey on its own to get fixed and that it came back to me, all shiny and new. I like the story it tells me. Or as the author Laura van Berg put it:

“Objects contain worlds; troubled and fractured histories; unanswerable mysteries; force fields of thoughts and feelings. (…) Objects have the power to communicate the matter that exists beyond the limits of language”. (Laura van den Berg. Object Lesson: An Exploration).

So cheers to the stories that objects tell. The adventure, my precious ring has had. To Dr. Jack and the Stone Cutters of Bangkok. And the little things that are really the big things.