2020, Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

Barclay here.

My bangs were too long and refused to be swept to the side. It was time to show them the scissors. Now in the past, this has resulted in short, uneven locks, so before chopping, I decided to consult an online expert. I found a cheerful YouTuber with a confident air and perfect, wispy bangs. Her first bit of bang-cutting wisdom? Don’t go near the scissors if you are drunk. She was quite serious about this. She said that this past year many people tried to cut their own hair during and after happy hour and the results were not pretty. Isn’t that so 2020? Cocktails have been starting earlier and earlier, bringing with them the temptation to create a new you, forgetting the small fact that you were not a rising star in cosmetology school, for the simple reason that you did not attend one.

I took the YouTuber’s sage wisdom to heart. But I still wound up with non-wispy bangs.

2020 has brought us not only uneven hair, but also a nostalgia for former days when we did not have to scurry across the street at the sight of another dog walker heading our way, or glare at that Costco shopper whose mask kept slipping below his nose as he drifted into our six feet of space. We are yearning for normalcy. We are ready to welcome 2021 to the stage and boot 2020 out the door. Here at Revisionist Retirement, we wish for you –

Family get-togethers where old gripes have dimmed because you are so appreciative of seeing each other in person and not as postage stamps on your laptop screen.

Dining and shopping inside, flashing your teeth as you smile broadly at pure strangers, sparking conversations, just pleased that your smile is visible.

Walking in the company of more than one person, side by side, not separated by the entire street and not having to yell through a mask.

Freedom from fear. Not thinking a sneeze is a straight shot to hospitalization and a ventilator.

Seeing a movie. In a theatre. With people around, munching greasy popcorn.

Attending church in person, sweating through a yoga class, gabbing with your hairdresser. Traveling to see friends and family for big turkey dinners and lazy TV watching.

And a deeper faith in your God who sees it all – the scary sneezes, the tired dogs, and the choppy bangs.

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Joy here.

On the hair note, let me add, that I’d never seen that much grey in my hair. In May when I began to see it glaring back at me, I texted my good friend, Bruce, for help. He styles and colors hair for a living and has for decades. He very sweetly came upstate, over two- and- a half hours away to rescue me from old age! Outside in the fresh air with accoutrements packed neatly, he restored my youth! Boy, was I thankful for having a colorist as a friend!

2020 also meant not seeing my family. I missed my older daughter who was in lockdown abroad. I hadn’t seen her in nine months – the longest I had ever gone without seeing her. My heart ached for a hug, a smile, a Zoom-less get together. As for my younger daughter, she was hunkered down for three months in California learning to adjust to living with her boyfriend. (If that isn’t a way to speed up a relationship or destroy it, I don’t know what is!)

The pandemic taunted us and played with our emotions. Would I get it? Would my friends or loved ones get it? How could we, who are now considered “elderly” (only chronologically!), protect ourselves from something that seemed to stymie even the most brilliant scientists and research?

Barclay and I are looking forward to 2021 which represents a light at the end of this long dark road. We anxiously await hugs upon hugs. Kisses too. Human touch. (Please don’t make hand shakes a thing of the past.) We find peace knowing that we have not gone through this alone, but have been surrounded by so many who share our state of mind. Eventually, the vaccine will be given to all who want it, whether you are next in line or 20 groups behind. There is hope that this too shall pass and enter the annals of history, as did the 1918 Spanish flu, SARS, MERS, H1N1, and Ebola.

So, good-bye 2020. We don’t love you; we only knew you for a couple of short months before you turned ugly. But thank you for reminding us to be grateful for people, family, and faith.

We wish you, our readers, our loyal followers and those who have just read us for the first time, peace, joy, good health and, of course, perfect bangs!

Enjoy the ride.

xox Barclay and Joy

A Shortage of Christmas Trees? And it’s not because of the Grinch!

I began to notice people carting away Christmas trees this year right after Thanksgiving. It was very noticeable. It was as though they were waiting for that last piece of pumpkin pie to be digested so that they could get to the tree lot.

Many people have moved up to the Hudson Valley these last few months, the part of New York state that I live in for half the year. With a change in demographics, a big bump up in population, I thought this might be a problem. I just had no idea that the trees would be virtually gone by the first weekend in December. Traditionally, I don’t put up our tree until the middle of the month, being in no rush to take the time to position the thing in the stand (always a fight waiting to happen as to whether it’s straight or not!) Then there’s the decorating, the lights, the wrapping of presents. Even though I have two grown daughters and no grand children, I take on Christmas the same way I always have. I revel in it’s traditions, I love the smell of pine when you first bring the tree into the house, the aroma of cookies baking in the oven and candles lit on the mantle.

Back to the Christmas trees. I thought about why there should be a shortage of trees so early in the season and the reason became clear. People were seeking something, anything to bring joy into their lives. The cover of Time magazine was recently entitled “The Power of JOYElevate your life. Finding Joy in Trying Times. A Spiritual Peak. If that didn’t say it all, I don’t know what did. We are social creatures, we want and need connection. We yearn to interact, to celebrate, to entertain, to be surrounded by people we care about, especially at holiday time, most especially now in this year of all years!

The buying of the Christmas trees so early was just what people needed to do and they did it early and in big numbers. Lots and farm stores told me that they were having their best year in decades! They only wished they had more trees to sell.

An article in The Wall Street Journal talked about eight foot Christmast trees in Hong Kong going for as much as $2,167 a pop. Who knew this phenomena was global! At that price, I’d go fake!

Apparently, a Christmas tree takes between 8-12 years to grow says an owner of one such farm in Oregon. He estimated that the smaller supply had increased prices by 30% over the last four years. So, it’s not in your imagination. These Christmas trees have become a luxury not all can afford.

With that in mind, after exhausting ACE Hardware and Loew’s, last ditch effort, I persuaded my very reluctant husband to go chopping with me in the Berkshires. On a beautiful Sunday, mid 50’s in temperature, incredibly mild for mid December, with saw in hand we climbed a hill and found our perfect tree. It was befitting of a Norman Rockwell scene. An experience to remember and a tree that will grace our home for the next couple of weeks until I sadly have to take it down.

Today’s Takeaway…

Be resilient. Be creative. Don’t let the economics of Christmas trees ruin your holiday.

For once, it wasn’t the Grinch who had anything to do with this scarcity. It was simply people searching early for “joy” ( I ought to know. I’ve been living with this name for a lot of years!

Enjoy the ride

xox Barclay & Joy

What is This Rainbow Bridge and Why Must Our Furry Friends Cross it?

Our family dog Colby passed away almost two years ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to write about it until now.

My dear friend and blogging partner lost her precious Kasie yesterday so as homage to all of us who have ever loved a pet (cats, dogs, guinea pigs, rabbits, …) I am moved to write.

Colby was almost 18 years old when he was put to sleep, March of 2019. He was a Schnoodle that we rescued from a Schnauzer rescue organization in NJ. Maybe, there aren’t enough Schnoodles in the New York area to rescue to warrant their own non profit!

After being interviewed as though we were adopting a child, driving from Westchester to Northern New Jersey to meet the dog in a vet’s office to be screened and vetted, and supplying references from friends and family, we were deemed worthy of Colby.

He was black in color and three years old at the time, feisty, a little shy (who wouldn’t be if they had been taken back to the pet store twice!) and slightly mistrusting. Did you know that black dogs are the hardest to place because of their color? True. Dogs are smart. They know who loves them and wants them. They size people up pretty quickly and their 6th sense is pretty darn good.

We picked him up at the Vince Lombardi gas stop right after you enter into NJ. He hopped out of the van he was brought in to say hello, spunky and curious about what was to come. He came with a stuffed dog, which we dubbed “Vince”, in honor of the place we met and where his new life began.

My older daughter was in her last year of high school at the time and my younger daughter three years her junior. Colby really became’ daughter #2’s best friend and my husband, who was by then doing a lot of work from home, his buddy too. I was working in the city and commuting so got to know Colby at a slower pace. I grew to love him as much as I had any other dog we had owned in the past (two before him, one who lived to almost 18 and the other almost 16)

As the years went by, our love grew stronger and our family bond with Colby was cemented for life. We took him on vacations, snuck him into hotel rooms where we knew he wasn’t allowed, dressed him up for Halloween, and made him chopped liver or steak for his birthday once a year.

Fast forward many years and I look back on him as our friend, consoler, therapist. confidante, and wise old soul.

Dogs provide us with enduring love, ask so little from us, and return so much. As with anything else in life, the decision to let go is very hard. It must be clear cut to you that it is time, not anyone else’s. You know your pet best.

Though he was almost blind, had evident signs of dementia, and walked very slowly, no longer interested in walks on a leash, he was not ready until that March of 2019. We were away for the winter and gave him many days of warm sunshine on those old bones rather than a winter of snow and cold. The weekend he stopped eating we knew. What “they” say is true. You know when it is time.

My husband and I brought him to our local vet wrapped in his favorite blanket. We knew in our hearts that it was time. We caressed him, kissed him, told him how much we loved him. We looked away for a split second and the shot had already been administered. Our vet was wonderful and allowed us as much time as we needed to cry. I hugged him for being the person he was, understanding completely the love a family has for a pet.

So to my dear friend, I know how much it hurts, how your heart feels ripped out, how a flood of memories keep going through your head, and how the house feels empty. You have Cody and I’m glad you do. Each dog or cat is unique and brings its own personality into the family. Cherish the time you had with Kacie. Rest in peace sweet thing.

Takeaway…

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened”-Anatole France

Enjoy the Ride-bumps and all

x0x Barclay & Joy

The Perspective of a US Census Taker

usa flag waving on white metal pole
Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Last fall I filled out an application to be a U.S Census taker. I was newly retired and had the time. But mainly, I felt it was my civic duty. In prior decades, I had been a Vietnam protester, a women’s lib advocate, an outspoken New Yorker born in the shadow of Columbia University and fully identifying with the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) of the 1970s.

Now I saw a country more divided than ever, with racial tensions heightening, and unemployment surging. Could I actually make a difference  for those whom the Census affected – the underrepresented, the marginalized, the uncounted? My 1970s self applauded!

But I soon discovered that becoming a Census taker was more than hopping in my car with a clipboard in hand and patriotic zeal in my heart. 

I had to attend a training class followed by a comprehensive nine-hour module on how to be an exemplary “enumerator”. This is the first time that technology has been used in the Census. The interview process would be prompted by questions on a government issued phone with software prompting you from one screen to the next based on answers to questions. You are capturing data that will be submitted for analysis by our government. And with over 170,000 Covid related deaths, the demographic changes in our country have been profound and dollars need to be allocated in the best way possible – for senior centers, hospitals, and schools.

After completing the module and taking a quiz covering the basic material, I was deemed ready to hit the road and be in the field. And my particular field turned out to be mostly just that. I was assigned the rural countryside of Columbia County in upstate New York.

My first case on my first day showed exactly how rural my territory was. My GPS led me to a corn field where it announced with great satisfaction that I had arrived. I stared at the wide open space, my patriotic zeal a bit dampened. I soon discovered that addresses were often incorrect, that many houses had no numbers, and that there were residents of trailer parks and RVs who wanted to remain off the grid.

But I also learned that whether rural or urban, people are more alike than they are different. And everyone has a story. I am a definitive type A personality, and I relished the opportunity to learn these stories – people’s names, their ages and origin, who they live with, and how many were under the same roof. It was like being an investigator without having the background for it.

Some of the kindest, sweetest people I met were missing teeth and eating cheese doodles for dinner. In this socially distanced, Covid world, most people seemed to want to connect, to interact with another human being. I saw how many lonely people there were out there, pandemic or no pandemic.

One woman I met was just pulling  into her dusty, dirt driveway. After I identified myself, she asked if I could wait a moment while she checked on her three kids and her mom. I discovered she was in her 40s, single, and had just moved back into her childhood home. At the end of the interview, I thought she would have asked me to stay for dinner if not for Covid.  We were probably on complete opposite sides politically, but we had connected – and all while filling out Census forms!

Then there have been times when I realized I was enumerating an actual celebrity. Once I spoke to a famous movie director/producer and did not let on that I knew who he was. It was an experience I will treasure and it never would have happened had I not been wearing my U.S Census badge!

I have also encountered those who did not take kindly to a stranger approaching their home, regardless of the clearly visible credentials. Once a hostile property owner appeared out of nowhere at a multi unit complex, telling me I was soliciting and that he was going to call the police. I calmly told him I was with the U.S Census Bureau, doing my job, and to please go ahead and call them. I stood my ground. I then heard him mutter under his breath, “f ing bitch” followed by a louder pronouncement that I had three minutes to leave the property. (I took my sweet time!)

As a 2020 Census Taker, I never know what to expect when I get into my car. But that’s the joy of it!  Everyone has a story and the hours fly by. Before I know it, I have gone through 25-30 cases and completed my required interviews. I have driven past corn fields and have heard cases that would break your heart. But I have also witnessed our nation’s diversity and resiliency, as well as our need to connect, and yes, even unite.

This is my small part in being an American and, whatever good comes from getting this Census right, I know I have contributed.

Ode to Olivia

Last week the world became a little less colorful as my first cousin, Olivia, slipped away and entered a permanent place in heaven.

She was not supposed to die at her age, not quite 64, oh so young by today’s standards. She was unwell, and dealt with the side effects from chemotherapy for many years as she battled cancer. She had neuropathy, heart issues, depression, anxiety, and a host of other ailments, in addition to just pain and discomfort. She suffered from conditions more common in later years.

I reconnected with Olivia about ten years ago through the effort of her step sister, my cousin, Fran Lisa. She very thoughtfully initiated a reunion, which brought Olivia and me back together, women now well past middle aged. I had had a hiatus of 20 years where we hadn’t communicated. No reason, just the usual drifting of family, particularly when one is an East coaster and one a West coaster. I owe a debt of gratitude to Fran Lisa for this special rekindling.

Olivia had lived quite a life as a true love child, leaving home at 18 never to return again. She followed her heart and her passion for music and art. She wrote poems and designed greeting cards expressing a oneness with nature. She even had praying mantises as pets, in addition to dogs and cats.

She was a real groupie, following Bob Dylan around the country, writing to him, composing poetry, and painting him. She once waited for him in front of the men’s room so she could personally hand him a piece of her art. He told her to stick to her poetry!

Olivia was also a weed distributor way before Mary Louise Parker ever smelled pot! Based out of tony Marin County, she had a client list of writers and Hollywood folk (maybe B or C list, but nevertheless!!) who counted on her for her quality product. She knew everything there was to know about cannibis before I ever smoked a joint.

I was a goody two shoes who always did what was expected. As little girls, she brought the mischief out in me. I looked upon Olivia as a sister since we were very close in age. We shared secrets. She complained to me about her family, asked for advice, bounced ideas off me. It was a special bond.

Olivia wore a hibiscus in her hair, bright stenciled designs like butterflies on her red polished nails, and had Sharon Osbourne hair. You couldn’t miss her if you tried! She leaves two grown daughters, a grand child, and a husband who loved her for the unique character she was. They were partners for 20 years before marrying only seven years ago. Better late than never.

So, Olivia, as you are laid to rest today, Sunday, the day that would have been your birthday, know that you left your mark. You touched people’s lives, made many people smile. You, who lost your mother at the tender age of two, will be reunited with her, alongside your dad, and grand parents.

May Bob Dylan be singing Blowin’ In The Wind to you as a serenade and flowers come to life everywhere.

Rest in peace.

Love forever from Cousin Joy.

Takeaways

-My cousin. is the first close family member I have lost and it hit me as a little too close to home. I am fortunate to have not lost any dear friends to disease or accidents. I know that this will be the first of many more to come as I age and those around me as well.

-We need to reach out to family and friends that we may have disconnected from.

Egg Roll for One

Eating Chinese food alone in front of the tv is acceptable. It’s okay. It’s when isolation is thrust upon you and it becomes a day in and day out occurrence, that the effects become very real.

After almost five months of social distancing, quarantining, and separation from loved ones far away (or worse in nursing homes or assisted living facilities), we are at the end of our proverbial ropes! Life is not normal. Who knows when it will be? For me, I am fortunate to have my EPS (Ever Present Spouse)! But others are not so lucky and isolation has become their new normal.

We, as humans, are social by nature. Sure, it’s good to have space, to have “me” time, but many of us crave some type of social interaction. Studies show that most people would rather experience electric shock treatment than be in isolation! (I kid you not! Heard it on the radio the other day.) “Human beings are an ultra-social species and our nervous systems expect to have others around us,” says Emiliana Simon-Thomas of The Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley.

No other time has this been more painfully clear than now. I have a daughter who is living in Europe, whom I can’t see. I miss her terribly. Absence does not make this heart grow fonder. It makes it ache!

So during this time of aching, let’s not forget about those who are truly alone and may even now be sitting in front of the TV with their take-out egg roll. How are they dealing with this forced social isolation? This is a time for us to reach out to one another. To make a call. Send a text. Let someone know we care.

Barbra Streisand said it best in the 1964’s classic film, Funny Girl, “People, people who need people are the luckiest people in the world.”

xox

Barclay and Joy

The Power of a Dust Rag

(Joy here.) In addition to the many things we have learned and adjusted to living in a Covid world, one of them is — your house or apartment still gets dirty! And you are there to witness it in real time!

Cleaning… it’s a thankless job, my mother used to say. When my mother started a part time job, the first thing she treated herself to was a maid! Who doesn’t love the pleasant smell of a clean house when it is spic and span, but how many of us really enjoy actually doing the work that needs to be done to get it to that place?! With people not wanting to go into someone’s home for socializing, the likelihood of getting your cleaning person to come, is slim. The conundrum is… do you live in filth or get down on those hands and knees and do it yourself?

The funny thing is that I actually enjoy physical labor. I like weeding gardens, though it is frustrating as hell that the damn things keep coming back! I like getting down on all fours to give the bathroom floor a thorough wash. Call me crazy, but I refuse to use that beloved Swiffer floor mop (though easier on the back and knees) because it just doesn’t give me that same sense of physicality. A little sweat never hurt anyone and the results are ones that quickly illustrate what a good job you’ve done!

Studies show that cleaning is actually therapeutic. An article on the website Organicauthority.com points out five suggestions for turning housecleaning into a mood enhancer:

  1. As you clean the kitchen sink, you can practice deep breathing and meditation.
  2. Cleaning a drawer can give you a feeling of being in control.
  3. Scrubbing has been shown to release stress levels.
  4. Count your blessings while dusting -after all, you are one of the lucky ones to have a house to clean!
  5. Cleaning can purge more than just dog hair. As you dispose of dust and grime, visualize your negative emotions being tossed out as well.

Covid is not going away anytime soon, so you might as well bite the bullet, pick up the dust rag, and sing show tunes while you clean! Your home will reward you as a place to be proud of and continue to social distance in!

Today’s Takeaways

-Feeling isolated? Sad? Overwhelmed? Cleaning SOMEthing could just make you feel better. Start small. Try for drawer a day.

-Okay, who could possibly get excited about cleaning a toilet?! Run, don’t walk, to Target or Amazon ASAP and order this product! It’s amazing! Your toilet will smile back at you!! ToiletWand

Enjoy the ride!

xox

Barclay and Joy

Silver Linings

These are hard times. The word, unprecedented, does not come close to describing what we are going through. COVID has swept our globe with tsunami force leaving in its wake overrun ICUs, death, unemployment, food lines, isolation, and stress that for lack of a better descriptor is… well, unprecedented.

We hesitate to inject positivity here. For we know we are among the privileged. Our zip code has not been ravaged; we have not had to wait hours in a food line. We are not essential workers; nor are we on the front lines in a hospital emergency room.

However, COVID has interrupted our privilege with loneliness and longing. We cannot hug a grandchild, or meet a grown daughter for a drink, or visit a mother in a nursing home. Yet we have also recognized a few silver linings, for which we are grateful. We are recording them here, so as not to forget.

Silver Lining 1: Reuniting family

My family of origin is spread across the states. One sister lives in Vermont, four brothers reside in New York, Minnesota, and California, and nieces and nephews are dispersed. We see one another once a year at best and talk mainly on holidays and birthdays. Since COVID, however, my nephew has organized a weekly ZOOM call that has enabled us to connect. Yes, there are awkward silences and interruptions, but there is also laughter. Our family, however flawed, knows one another’s backstory and can speak in shorthand, referencing people and places only we know. We are closer now than ever before.

Silver Lining 2: Slowing down

Walking the dog, chatting with a neighbor from across the street, reading a book, journaling, planning a recipe, calling a friend – time during a quarantine has made us stay more present. We might share a smile with a fellow dog walker, or gaze at a hidden garden, or marvel at a cleverly disguised robin’s nest.

Silver Lining 3: And this is a big one. Examining systemic racism

We have COVID generated time now to learn and to listen. We are reading White Fragility and Just Mercy as well as the signs held aloft by the protesters in our streets. We watch and rewatch horrifying videos. We are trying to understand more and speak less, and to call out our myopic and generationally unresponsive eyes and ears. COVID is urging us to practice humility.

Silver Lining 4: Thinking about what matters

We can’t zip over to the store. We can’t have coffee with a friend. We can’t stroll an outdoor mall, or get our hair done. We are sick of our own cooking and we have saturated all Netflix options. We wear the clothes we slept in, and showering is, shall we say, less frequent. But at the same time we are grateful each morning when we wake up and discover we are not sick. We are thankful we have dogs to keep us company. And the weather…winter has passed and we are uplifted by the blue sky and the bright light that extends well into evening. All the trappings of our lives are stripped away and we are thankful for our family and friends. Needs and wants are more clearly delineated. Perhaps we can live without those skinny margaritas or that blow dry with the beach-y waves.

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I concur with my dear friend’s observations. Life IS different. I don’t want to say, it will never be the same again, because that’s been said before, after 9/11, after the Great Recession of 2008, basically after every major crisis or shattering event.

Some of us will learn lessons from these last few months and some of us won’t. For me, as a sixth decade-er, it will leave its imprint, its message to wake up, that time’s a fleeting. It has made me think more deeply. I was already in heavy thinking mode, having retired and struggled with a new chapter (those of our blog readers know this), but this COVID message is both physical and mental. My husband and I are considered “elderly”!! Who? Me? Couldn’t be. The disease could be lurking in coughs, on Amazon delivery boxes – a facial-touch away. We are vulnerable, but we are also profoundly thankful.

May we hold onto this gratitude for as long as we can. May we treasure our children, our grandchildren, our spouses, partners, and friends – we realize now more than ever that they could be taken away from us at any time.

As for racial tensions, we need to stop and think before we open our mouth; we need to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. And we must be kinder, more tolerant, and ever mindful that not everyone has the privilege of being taken at their word.

There are no “Takeaways” today. Just read our words which, hopefully, will leave a tiny imprint. We bare our rawest feelings when we blog and we hope just one person may walk away, saying, “Wow, I feel that way too.”

Enjoy the ride,

xox Barclay and Joy

The Case of the Fatigued Engagement Ring

About a month ago, I (Joy) was looking down at my hand.  This is the hand I have worn my engagement ring on for the last four decades. I did a double take.  One of the shanks holding a diamond baguette had separated from the main stone.  The ring is made of platinum, a very hard substance, atomic number 78, unreactive,  not inclined to break or crack.  I took the ring off for fear of losing the stone and put it away until it could be looked at by a jeweler. My hand felt naked.  I felt as though maybe this signified something.  Was my marriage broken?  Was this an omen?  I had worn this ring for 44 years, 42 being married and two during our engagement. This ring had seen much, felt much, and been with me on my hand reminding me of my vows, a token of affection and love, and several months of my fiancee’s salary at that time.  Who knew rings could break? If my ring could talk, what would it say?

I discovered that jewelers in my area were closed during the pandemic.  This was not a do it yourself project.  I didn’t know any gemologists, so my beautiful engagement ring had to be put away for safe keeping.

Finally, we entered into Phase 2 in the Capital Region of New York.  I found a jeweler in our little hamlet who was incredibly talented.  I walked in with my broken engagement ring and it was diagnosed as ‘fatigue.”  I had never heard this term before in relation to jewelry and I found it rather incredulous!  How could my ring be tired? All it did for 44 years was  sit on my finger. I asked nothing of it!

Apparently, rare as it  might be, especially for platinum silverish white in color, it can happen.  One of the shanks was indeed cracked and so, after an estimate of $550, I left my ring to be repaired and made new again. (The jeweler said he had never seen this happen before!)

Two weeks later and I received a call from the jeweler that my ring was repaired and looked brand new.  He told me that when he removed the shank holding one of the diamond baguettes, the other shanks disintegrated.  Perhaps, out of solidarity! Thank God it could be saved and there is a happy ending to my tale of woe. My beautiful engagement ring is now back on the finger it has always been on, shiny and new, no longer fatigued!

Today’s Takeaway

-Keep your eye on your jewelry at all times.  You never know when a piece that is dear to you is going to get “fatigued”!

-If my ring could talk, it might remind me that relationships too can become fatigued; they too may need to be polished, attended to with love, and valued beyond measure.

As always, enjoy the ride!

xox

Barclay and Joy