I have just spent an agonizing two days. It all started on Thursday morning as I was getting dressed and I was about to do the last part of my "toilette," which was putting on my rings for the day. I take my rings off at night because my fingers swell so much in the New Jersey humidity that they get uncomfortable. I usually put them on a tray beside my sink in the bathroom. Excpet that on Thursday morning, they were not there. Huh. Not too worried because sometimes I sleepily take them off after reading in bed and put them on my nightside table.

Nope, not there either. Double huh.

Bathrobe pocket? Nope.

And the list of places I searched high and low just went on and on. 

Missing where three rings: my diamond princess-cut solitaire, my ruby and diamond wedding band (which we bought at Tiffany's for our 30-year-marriage vow renewal), and my grandmother's diamond. No costume jewelry here.

I racked my brain trying to come up with something, anything, that would jog my memory as to when I had last seen them. I was pretty sure they must be in the house somewhere, but I had gone to the grocery and the library the day before. Still, I had a vague recollection of having taken the off and putting them somewhere "safe." Apparently it was too safe because not even I could find them.

I spent hours looking in drawers, my knitting, on shelves, under the bed: you name the place and I probably looked there. Bella was wondering what the heck I was doing and the poor thing followed me around room by room as I opened, closed, rifled and banged around.

I was feeling pretty sick by Thursday night.

On Friday, I checked at the ShopRite at the Lost and Found. She pulled out a tray of crappy bits and pieces of jewelry that people had lost along the way. No diamonds there. Not even diamonds-in-the-rough. I had similar luck at the library. Sorry, they said. Sorry indeed.

I came home and donned a pair of garden gloves, slit open a new, big trash bag on the garage floor and dumped two days' worth of garbage from the kitchen and laundry room out on the bag. I went through the trash piece by piece. No rings. Just a bunch of garbage. I also emptied the vacuum bag and went through that. No rings, just a bunch of dirt and dog hair and two kitty toys.

I even went so far as to inspect all the dog poop in the yard from the past two days, thinking that maybe they had eaten them. I took paper towels outside with me and squished every turd I could find. The only thing I found was the fact that my dogs both have great, solid stools.

I was at my wit's end. Although by now I was convinced that my wits were truly addled if I could not remember where I put them. Was it the whiskey nightcap from that night?

Rick also joined in the search from the moment they went missing. He tried to calm me by telling me that after all, they were just rings. Yes, just rings, but pretty expensive ones and also meaningful.

By last night I had pretty much given up. I had to -- I was driving myself (and Rick) crazy. I figured they would turn up when they were good and ready. Several things I knew for sure: they were not eaten by a dog; they were not in the trash; they were not lost since they could not have fallen off my swollen fingers. So, they had to be here somewhere. Ah, that was the question: WHERE?

I was headed to bed last night when I looked down at the rug beside my bed, and lo and behold there was my grandmother's ring! I yelled to Rick that I had found a ring. He said he had taken Bella's dog bed, turned it upside down and shook it out but didn't hear anything hit the floor. We lifted the rug and there were both of the other rings! HURRAH! I started crying and bouncing around, all the while kissing my rings. Happy dance! They must have been knocked off my nightstand by a dog's tail since Bella's bed is right on my side of the bed. From this day forward I will putting them in a ring box when I take them off.

What was once lost was found.