Yesterday I opened a box of valuables. Birth and death papers, wedding bands, anniversary earrings, jade buddha pendants, corroded watches, and coral necklaces. At the end of the long box lay a foggy plastic bag of copper gem rings, the kind you buy at the drugstore counter. Amethyst, citrine, aquamarine, rose quartz and sapphire they were not. But holding them in my hand they sparkled like stars that were on their way to burning out. It seemed absurd that my mother stored toy rings alongside her real ones. To her it seemed as if real didn't matter and these were just as special.
If you like rings, check out the famous ring sweater...
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