Our anniversary is coming up on Groundhog Day. It’s one of those multiple-of-5, kind of a big deal ones.
So I came up with this idea.
I thought I could keep it a secret from MB, but I couldn’t. Well, I could, but I actually couldn’t for practical reasons.
Back in December, I stumbled across this site for wooden rings. Sounds kind of weird and quaint and who but a hobbit would want something like that, right?
Oh, pippa. Not so fast.
Look at them:
(Juniper heartwood with greyed maple interior)
(A tapered Blackwood ring with narrow greyed maple inlays)
(Hawaiian Koa Wood with birch interior)
(I like the simplest ones or the ones with the knots the best. Go check out all of his galleries.)
They’re pretty much breathtaking, don’t you think?
I went through all the galleries on this site, drooling over this man’s work. On New Year’s day up at my brother’s, I went through all the galleries again on his laptop, with Original Banshee sitting next to me. Every time I clicked on a new image, she proclaimed her approval or disapproval. Literally, before I’d even opened my mouth to render my opinion, she was making declarations loudly in my ear. Precious, you’re snuggled right next to me. It’s okay if you don’t shout. I promise.
We liked exactly the same ones every time. Exactly. Without me saying a word first. I’m beginning to think we’re more alike than not.
So, basically, all December, when I should have been shopping and decorating and baking, I was on that site, drooling and dreaming and pining for a pair of those rings. MB had lost his ring recently and he was a bit allergic to it anyway. My ring is a ruby ring — my birthstone — not a band, and I was suddenly jonesing to have matching or complementary wooden rings. It just seemed so “us.”
Really, all I wanted was to live in a hobbit hole, grow hair on my feet, and smoke pipes whilst wearing not some pain-in-the-ass One ring but a gorgeous, simple wooden ring.
That’s all I wanted.
But, sadly, I didn’t have the moola to purchase a pair of these rings and become a hobbit.
Then one day, a possible solution hit me.
Dad.
My renaissance man dad.
My tie-dying, rock-stacking, stained-glassing and wood-turning dad.
Dad could make the rings. Okay. True, he’s never actually made wooden rings, but I know two things for sure about my dad: He loves a project and he loves a challenge.
So I sent him a proposal immediately. He accepted. I offered to pay him. He refused.
Instantly, he became like a little boy about the whole project. He talks to me in excited tones about things like lathes and waxes and mandrels. He talks about thickness and edges. He talks about angles and degrees. I have no idea what he’s saying. All I know is he’s in full-on GO mode. It’s kind of adorable.
At first, he was so over the moon about it, he wanted to keep it a secret from MB. The ensuing conversation went like this:
“But Dad, MB lost his ring. I don’t know his ring size. How am I gonna get that secretly?”
“Just cut a piece of thread and wind it around his finger while he sleeps.”
“Dad, that’s not gonna work.”
“Why not? Sure it will.”
“It’s not very exact. What if he wakes up and sees me wrapping a string around his finger? Yeah, that’s not weird at ALL.”
“So what?”
“Okay, genius. What do I tell him if that happens?”
“I dunno. You’ll figure it out.”
“Oh, thanks. You know, I think I’ll just tell him.”
“Okaaay.”
And when I did, MB was over the moon about it all too.
Dad is using wood from a tree in my parents’ yard. I love that. I love that my dad is making them and I love that he’s making them from one of our trees.
The meaning in these rings ……… I can hardly stand it.
Tomorrow we have a “fitting” with our designer.
We are so excited.
