My crown is in my heart, not in my head,
Nor decked with diamonds and Indian stones,
Nor to be seen; my crown is called contentment;
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.
Big diamonds, so big I expect people may have suspected they were fake. One ring was a solitaire from my granny, the other a rock flanked by two smaller stones; the rock was my mom’s and I’d had it put in the new setting when I got married.
When my Bunn was about five years old, she would sit at my dressing table and fiddle with my things while I got ready to go out. Of course the day arrived when I couldn’t find my ring. We turned the house upside down searching for it, the contents of the vacuum cleaner were sifted through, and the dustbin was examined. The ring was gone.
Almost a year later, the child woke up one morning and called to me that she had dreamed where the ring was. She went to her toy cupboard and pulled out a spindly-legged doll named Pindella, who wore a tiny backpack. Sure enough, there was my ring wrapped in a grubby piece of tissue.
There is an urban legend in Johannesburg that criminals will cut your hands off to get your jewellery, so I seldom wore either of my two diamond rings. My personal style leans more to chunky costume jewels anyway, and I have bowls, boxes and tins of the stuff all over my house.
And so it happened that these two rings lay amongst tin and plastic, silver and pewter; for many years.
Until last December.
Our Alice had gone on her year-end visit to her homeland, Lesotho, and a friend of mine suggested we use the services of their char, Josephine, who would appreciate the extra income. The situation worked well for both Josephine and I over the two-week period.
In January I met up with my friend and asked after Josephine. I was told that Josephine had disappeared, along with my friend’s wedding ring, a couple of necklaces and a valuable collection of war medals that had belonged to her grandfather.
I went home with a feeling of dread and looked in my tin. Both my diamond rings were gone, nothing else had been taken.
They were not insured; the yearly valuation fee and high premiums had made me procrastinate, I have only myself to blame for that.
I stewed for a while. And then I let it go, I simply released my anger one morning.
Karma will do her thing … I doubt the twinkling of those stones made Josephine a happy woman.
I’m happy with my junk …
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