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The Wedding Ring Conundrum

wedding-rings-on-black-handswedding-rings-and-hands-black-4iwwiixrI turned on the news this morning and was amazed, as usual, to hear what is making headlines. There seems to be a lot of talk about Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner still wearing their wedding rings. As if it’s anyone’s business or a big deal. Who cares if they’re wearing giant, one-eyed parrots on their shoulders? But, it made me ponder the whole wedding ring conundrum. Personally, I don’t wear mine very much. If there’s an occasion and I’m dressing up I will put it on, or I’ll wear it for a few weeks and then put it away for a month. It just depends on my mood. What annoys me is when other people think it’s disrespectful or trashy not to wear one when you’re married. My comeback to them is, does wearing the ring make me more married? Am I only married when I’m wearing it? I know guys who cheat while wearing their wedding ring, and women, for that matter. Is it against some law of married conduct not to wear a ring? Who made up such a conduct?

With the Ben and Jen crisis going on:) I thought I’d take a look at the origin of the infamous wedding rings. It seems they date back many centuries ago in Europe. You see, 3,000 years ago, in ancient Egypt, during the engagement period, the man and woman would each wear a ring, usually made of a reed. It was a symbol of eternity, signifying their never ending love for one another. When they married, the two rings were then joined by a braid and the woman fashioned it on her left ring finger, where they believed a vein was housed, leading directly to the heart. (I feel my heart swoon just imagining the romanticism of it all:))

That was the single ring ceremony; the double ring ceremony is used in the United States. And until the 20th century, only women wore them. Then came a push to have men wear the rings, as well. Perhaps another gimmick to sell more jewelry, or the fact that equality was being attempted. After the wedding, the rings are worn on the fourth finger to display the couple’s external love for one another. It has become tradition and etiquette to do so. My feeling, as expressed in an earlier post, is that I don’t need a ring to show someone my love and devotion. Therefore, you will not find a ring at all times on my finger. I find it crazy that the media and fans of Ben and Jen are so wrapped up about the sight of their rings in the midst of their divorce. Divorce specialists, whomever they are, note that the power couple are sending a message to the public and to their children that they are united in their desire to co-parent. And, they think wearing a ring is going to do this? Who cares what the world thinks? Furthermore, do they think the ring has magical powers? Perhaps if they took their vows to heart, none of the outwardly crap would matter. “Till death do us part,” right? I don’t need a ring to remind myself of who I married or the fact that I am married. My morality guides me, not a piece of metal.

On a separate note, I probably would totally wear the ring all the times, if it had been a braid of the two of ours in which we wore singularly as an engaged couple. Now that’s romantic. Bling is not.

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The Hope to Rebuild Love

A-couple-kiss-at-the-train-station

Dear Wesley,

Why is it so difficult to stop a train wreck from occurring? Is it because the train tracks show no signs of bowing and cracking? Does anyone even take the time to check the foundation, to make sure it’s in tact? Or is the train traveling so quickly that the tracks become a blur and all sense of time becomes fleeting, as well? Does the train, itself, not show signs of malfunction? Sounds, like tiny-spurted screeches that go ripping through the blacked-out tunnels become unnoticed? Are we paying so much attention to other things that we don’t hear the rattling in the background? Of the bolts and screws that were once securely attached, becoming loosened with every wrong movement that’s made. It becomes white noise to our every day routines.

Aren’t there little hints of problems along the way to our destination? A bump, we felt, that perhaps had us reach for something to hold onto, but when the moment passed, we just sat back down and stared aimlessly out the window as if nothing just happened? We just want to make it successfully to our next station without creating a fuss about anything.

Was there a date I could find circled on my calendar that showed when the last time was that you held my hand? Did my hand, by shear rejection, stop waiting for your reach? Could I say for certainty that I was held blameless in not ever calling and checking on you when the second hand on the clock swept by the hour twice and you hadn’t made it home yet? In my defense, the first three occasions my call when unanswered, so went away my concern.

In the end, did my thoughts throughout the day ever stray to imagine your face, smiling and looking back at me? They might have if I could’ve remembered what it felt like to be seen by your eyes. To remember what your smile looked like.

When was the last time you touched me? Reaching for the light switch and grazing my arm doesn’t count. Although the skin on skin contact made me recall older memories of your caresses. Like lying in bed and being folded into your arms as you played with the contour of my arm with your teasing fingertips. The memory makes me smile, now, thinking about it. Something I haven’t done for quite some time.

Funny thing about train wrecks, no one sees them coming.  But, when the smoke settles on the debris that stretches as far as the eye can see, you can suddenly recall every worn track, every bump in the night, every jeer and every silent dinner, you had along the way. A lot of times, it’s only after the wreck that you can see where it got off the tracks. But, as we stand here among the destruction of our train wreck, there’s only one thing I want.

To rebuild it…better…with only you.

Amy

And, this time, we will vow to slow down when we feel a bump and see what it’s all about before we dismiss it and continue on.

Thoughts From: WAKING AMY (Feb 2016)