Voice: Forgetting something old doesn't spoil wedding

June 21, 2001

I am so peeved with myself that I would kick me all the way to Ashtabula if I could. But I am not that agile, so I'll punish myself by telling you why I am so angry with me.

My beautiful granddaughter Lyndy's the light of my life. Almost from the moment she was born I began planning a new family tradition: the passing down of my mother's wedding ring — to me, the symbol of sacred, enduring, love and unloyalty — to Lyndy, then to her daughter, and so down through the generations as their "something old."

I used the ring when John and I were married almost 30 years ago. I wore it until my finger joints were crippled with arthritis. And then I put it away, waiting for Lyndy's wedding day.

That day came May 19.

I engaged my two housekeepers in an all-out search for the ring. I had put it "in a safe place" but as usual couldn't remember what I had considered a "safe place" at the time I had put the ring away.


We searched frantically for two days, upending everything in the apartment. Then I belatedly remembered that I "might have" put it in a purse I no longer use.

Another search began — for that purse.

We found it after I had abandoned all hope — and in its secret compartment was my mother's wedding ring.

As soon as I found it, Norma, the housekeeper on duty at the time, took it from me and zipped it into a pocket inside the big apple-red satchel purse I would take to El Cajon. "Don't you unzip that compartment until you are dressed and ready to go to your granddaughter's wedding," she admonished. "You don't want to misplace it."

So the ring stayed it the satchel.

My daughter Laura had bought me a beautiful ivory white floor-length gown to wear to the wedding. She gave me as much of a makeover as she could, and with not a second to spare we rushed off to the church where the wedding was to be held.

Do you think I even once thought of my mother's wedding ring, which was to be Lyndy's "something old"?

Not until the middle of the reception did I think of it.

There was less joy in me when I realized what I had forgotten than there was in Mudville the night Casey struck out.

Laura asked facetiously, "Do you want Lyndy and Jason to go through the ceremony again so she can wear that ring as her "something old."

Frankly, yes.

Practically, no.

Practicality won.

And so Lyndy and her bridegroom, Jason Malone, embarked blissfully on their honeymoon trip to Hawaii, totally unaware that forgetting the "something old" had thrown Lyndy's grammy into a wild state of consternation.


El Centro

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