Some years ago now (5? 6? I’ve lost count.) my friend Jane and I went to England. Again. It was, I believe, our sixth trip together to that blessed isle and, like all the others, was filled with adventure, history, and some extremely forgettable food.
But this post is not about any of that. It’s about my ring.
[I meant to insert a picture of my ring here—I took one—but I can’t find the cord that connects my camera to my computer. I think it may have gone to Denver to the WoF Imagine event without me. I’ll describe it in a minute. Just trust me that it’s beautiful.]
I bought this ring in Windsor. We got off the train—charming train station in Windsor, btw—and I spotted the most beautiful shop across the way. It was colorful. It was floral. It was romantic. It was “me.” Come to find out, it was Michal Negrin.
[I’d insert a picture of the shop here, but that was in my pre-digital days. Trust me, it was beautiful.]
So we went in and after much perusing and pondering, I bought the ring. It was not cheap but I loved it and I had the money so I thought what the heck? It left the shop on my finger.
Even in the picture currently trapped in my camera it’s difficult to tell, but it’s a large oval ring. In the center oval is an image of a Victorian-era woman in a wreath of flowers. She’s surrounded by a ring of amber stones . . . and therein lies the problem. Those little stones have a way of falling out. And somehow, in the years since I strolled past the Queen’s weekend home, the image has developed a wrinkle.
Fortunately, the ring came with a lifetime warranty. Unfortunately, in order to get it repaired I had to send it to the Michal Negrin headquarters. In Israel.
Theoretically, it’s not such a big deal. Put the ring in a container, slap on an address label, take it to the post office. In practice, it has taken me years to get around to those simple steps. Yes, years. Sad, I know. At first, things were looking pretty dicey in Israel and I didn’t want my ring to get caught in the crossfire. Then I couldn’t find a box. Then I didn’t think I had enough extra cash for the postage. Then I forgot about it until I ran across my ring in my jewelry container . . . then the whole cycle of procrastination started all over again.
Until this week, when I determined that come hell or high water that ring was going home to the Promised Land for repair and renewal. Somehow I managed to overcome my natural inertia, got the ring packaged and addressed, and took it to the post office. Clearly, this is one time when the evil postage machine would be out of its depth, so I had to go during business hours.
Guess what? There was almost no line, I spent my brief wait in pleasant conversation with the post office “concierge,” got a terrific pen recommendation from the guy behind the counter (more about that in another post) and sent my ring on its way for less than $3.
I could have done this years ago―but I didn’t. Makes me wonder what else I could have already accomplished if I stopped thinking/worrying/obsessing about it and just did it. Maybe those Nike people are on to something.
What have you been putting off?
P.S. Went out and bought a new thingy to free my photos from my camera. So here’s the ring: