That’s funny. My ring must have dropped off on the ground. I put my other jewelry on and began looking in earnest for my beautiful engagement ring. I like my hands and wrists free when I type — just a quirk of mine, I guess. But when I sit down to do some writing, the jewelry always comes off.

I had been working under a live oak next to the lake. The tranquil setting was perfect for letting my thoughts flow onto the page, but I couldn’t imagine what had happened to my ring. Mentally I retraced my steps and a light bulb went off inside my head.

Oh no! l think I know exactly what happened! I hurried to the front yard trying to catch up with my handyman before he left in his old truck. The yard was empty. I could see David had been at work when I spotted the new mailbox, which stood proudly on a white post.

Until today, the post had been a yucky green color. I noticed it each time I checked the mail or put the green garbage cans by the roadside, thinking, Well, they do match, but I guess I need to get out here with some bleach water or something.

Today, I had finally broken down and cleaned the post while David removed the old mailbox. I rummaged through the cabinet under the kitchen sink and found gloves, tucking them in the neck of the bleach bottle. Grabbing a large roll of paper towels and heading for the front yard, I was glad to finally get this task started.

I should have taken my rings off while I was inside, but never thought of it until it was too late. As I started to put on the thin latex gloves it dawned on me that my engagement ring particularly would probably punch a hole in them so I carefully laid my ring on the bumper of David’s truck.

And here I was now with the truck, headed to parts unknown. I tried hard not to panic and prayed that I would be able to find my ring. I told myself that there was no way it could have stayed on the bumper after he drove away, and that it was probably in the grass of the front yard.

After a thorough search, there was no ring anywhere in the grass. Then I thought perhaps it was in the garbage where I had discarded the used gloves. I dug through the trash, searching through every piece of it. I turned the gloves inside out and shook out every bit.

With each minute passing I sunk deeper into a funk. When I had nowhere else to look, I called David and asked him if he would stop and look at his back bumper.

“Jan, I’ve been hitting bumps and flying around curves. There is no way your ring is on the bumper.”

“Just look for me, will ya?”

After a couple of minutes he came back to the phone.

“You are never gonna believe it. One of the points on your ring was wedged under a piece of rubber. You are one lucky person.”

“No, David,” I spoke quietly. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Jan Penton Miller can be reached at lilsisjan@yahoo.com.