Seven years ago, when my grandma died at the great age of 98, she left her treasured engagement ring to me in her will. I love that beautiful diamond ring and I’ve looked after it carefully ever since.
I don’t wear the ring at the coffee hut. It’s not allowed from a ‘food hygiene’ perspective – but also it’s a little loose and it I’m afraid it might fall off. So this morning when I was half way between Appletreewick and Burnsall and I realised I was wearing Grandma’s ring, I was a bit foxed…
Today at the hut was – lovely actually. I was in full ‘planning mode’ – with the re-fit just five weeks away, and I spent the day (in between customers) plotting out in fine detail where everything will go in the new hut.
Friends Jennie and Howard suggested an early-doors drink at our local, the Craven Arms and I was cutting it fine when I realised, at 5.10pm that I no longer had Grandma’s ring.
The feeling was just awful. Trying to stay calm and logical whilst wracking my brains for clues. Re-tracing my footsteps (in the dark), turning out bins and hoping, beyond hope, that if someone had found it, they would be generous enough to come looking for its owner.
Drinks long cancelled, I was back at the hut for the second time when I called a friend to ask for help. Without hesitation she jumped in her car and within minutes she was calming me down and re-applying the method and logic that had long since escaped me.
Ten minutes later she appeared from the darkness, flashlight in hand, announcing that she had found it. “This is karma” she said. You helped me out – and now I’m helping you.
If this is true then karma is a beautiful thing. My ring had been run over by a car and squashed, but the three gleaming diamonds were still there and on the bright side, it fits me now.
Karma. I love it. And my friend. x