What Does It Say About Me?

If you're new to The Writer's Kaffeeklatsch, about three months ago my left ring finger was shattered in a fall on icy steps.  The ER cut off my wedding rings.  A few days later the doctor operated and inserted five pins into one little tiny bone.  Two months of physical therapy have led to increased mobility.  Yet my finger still isn't straight and won't bend to touch the palm of my hand without help.

My wedding rings were cut into halves -- the engagement ring is in two pieces and the wedding band is in two pieces.  The tragedy isn't my still-swollen finger; it's the loss of my grandmother's wedding band.

Even when my finger has been wrapped in the baby Ace bandage, the knuckle is very swollen.  The physical therapist measured it last week.  My finger was originally a size 6.  Now it's a 9 1/2.  My heart sank when she told me that.

Yet I still have my mother's wedding rings.  We have the same size fingers.  Or at least we did until this. 

One of my friends wear his wedding ring on his right hand because his wife is European and that's the custom where she's from.  There's an idea!  My mother's rings went over my right ring knuckle with a little effort.  But not so much that it was painful.  And there they'll stay until my left ring finger is back to some semblance of normalcy.

A quick search online for a photo of right-hand wedding rings happened upon the "meanings" of wearing the rings on the right hand.  Some possibilities are:

• Widowhood
• Left-handedness
• Sentimentality for family heirlooms
• Infidelity
• Gays or lesbians
• Cultural, specifically Polish, Colombian, Greek, Indian, or Eastern Orthodox

Well, well, well.  Are those all the possibilities?  That's all my search turned up.  Maybe I'll start a new trend.  Who says your wedding rings have to be on your left hand anyway?

Seven Deadly Virtues

There are seven of them each, seven virtues, seven vices.  In case anyone needs a reminder, they are Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, and Humility.  And Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride.  I know which ones I deal with on a weekly basis -- Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Envy, and Pride.  Wrath I'm not bothered by, unless someone lays a hurtful finger on one of my children.  Then that person will have to deal with the Wrath of Gaelic.  Other than that, it's just the other six I'm guilty of.

I have no virtues.  Only vices.  All seven of the virtues are quite arduous for me.  I should be more diligent about them.  But then I wouldn't be able to boast of having absolutely no virtues at all.  See, pride is my biggest vice!

A man after my own heart, or finger, has come to my rescue.  He knows that all women need to be reminded of their worst vices.  And in a way that is right in front of women all the time.  As rings on our fingers.  The problem is the way he depicts Pride.  Not my favorite vice anymore.  Looking at Stephen Webster's renditions of the Seven Deadly Vices, I think my new worst vice is Envy.  No, make that Wrath.  No, make it Lust.  Oh, hell, I'll take all Seven of the Deadly Virtues, I mean Vices.

Return to the Scene of the Coaster

This past weekend was our last fling of summer as a family.  Next weekend we pile in the car to deposit Finola at college and do college visits on the way back with Deirdre.  Our last familial fling of summer was spent at the amusement park where the teens and I celebrated my birthday.

Lesson learned.  No more roller coasters for me.  While waiting on the rest of the family to ride the coasters, several things came to my attention.

1. There's a prominent sign at the park entrance that says "shirts, pants, and shoes must be worn at all times".  Does that exclude short pants, a.k.a. shorts?  What about skorts?  What about a dress?  Or what I was wearing - an actual skirt?
2. A different sign at the bumper cars says to remove all earrings before riding.  Why?  Are earrings more conductive than rings, watches, bracelets, or necklaces?
3. Several rides have a demo seat at the beginning of the ride for people to try to buckle themselves into and see if they're too large for the ride.  Why do people wait in the line and then embarrass themselves by having to be told by the cast member that they're too big to ride rather than try the seat out before waiting in line?
4. If you don't want to eat meat, there aren't too many choices for meals.  What if I don't want a salad or a slice of cheese pizza?
5. There's only one Disney.  Why do parks try to have a back story for the rides if there's really no story?  And why do parks try to emulate certain Disney rides knowing that they'll fall far short?
6. Having someone in a wheelchair gets you to the front of the line ahead of everyone else.  Does that mean that you can fake an illness or injury, have a friend push you around all day, and jump to the front of the line just because you want to jump line?  'Cause there were a ton of healthy looking teens who would bound out of their wheelchairs and walk to the coaster seat then run back to their chairs after the ride ended.  Excuse me.  Can't you wait in line like the rest of us?
7. The war is over.  Or at least war fatigue has set in.  Gone are the ticket booths reserved solely for service members.  Gone are the tributes to the military throughout the park.  Even though there are numerous military bases within an hour's drive. 
8. Americans are fat. 

What is really sad about that last one is watching tubby ten-year-olds carrying a refillable Double Super Big Gulp-sized soft drink around while their grossly obese parents stuff themselves into a mobility scooter because their girth makes walking too hard on their hearts and lungs. 

During an extremely long wait for the family on one coaster, I decided to count the number of thin to average kids versus those with mini-muffin tops and big bowls of jelly.  Grand total:  kids without bellies - 2, kids with bellies that pooched out - 38.  Somehow I don't think any of those 38 tummies was distended due to malnourishment.  Not when you get free refills on soft drinks but have to pay $3 for each bottle of cold water.

Facet Hound

A kiss on the hand

May be quite continental,

But…

Our latest excursion with our Austrian exchange student was the Natural History Museum. His choice. Once inside, the teenagers split from us old folks and the little one to parts unknown. The youngest child wanted to see the new Written in Bone exhibit. But we had to make a detour for Mama to see her favorite exhibit – the Hope Diamond. It’s more than just the diamonds that thrill me. There are rubies, and emeralds, and sapphires, and garnets, and opals, and, and, and.

Tiffany's!

Cartier!

Black Starr!

Frost Gorham!

Talk to me Harry Winston.

When I was dating my soon-to-be fiancé, a childhood friend admonished me “No yellow diamonds”. Blue, red, yellow, clear – the color isn’t that important. My one desire during high school wasn’t a backseat boogie with the star football player; it was that delicate necklace on display at the corner jewelry store. Every Friday evening as the high school crowd would gather for Friday-night “cruising”, my first stop was the corner window to covet what I couldn’t afford and, as a teenager, didn’t need.

But stiff back

Or stiff knees,

You stand straight at Tiffany's.

Nowadays, the resources are budgeted towards college tuition for the kids and retirement for my husband and me. Indulgences are limited to four-star restaurants, spa half-days, and Godfather trilogy Blu-Rays – things that don’t have to be financed. But every now and then, standing close and gazing at the sparkling ice is just what the doctor ordered.

But square-cut or pear-shaped,

These rocks don't loose their shape.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

Somewhere?

It’s that season again. Hollywood rolls out the red carpets. Limo drivers spiff up their stretches. Stylists coif and dress the Swells.

It will be very interesting to watch the round of award ceremonies this year. Why this year more than any other? Because, as many Americans are tightening their belts and cutting back on luxuries like dinners out, starlets don’t seem to be affected in the least.

The red-carpet gauntlet at the Golden Globes was awash in sequins, and tulle, and lace. And baubles. While some writing-heads on “news” blogs remarked about Hollywood getting the memo to tone down the bling, there were still enough precious and semi-precious stones draping décolletés to make Mr. Arpels blush.

Escapism is one of the few things that bad economies are good at, along with alcohol consumption. Conceivably, the awards shows, and the Inauguration and its ubiquitous balls, offer us a glimpse of what was once and what may well be again. Somehow. Some day.