Rings

Rings are strange symbols, don’t you think? We can wear them casually, but it’s hard to get away from what they can ultimately mean.

The Christmas before I broke up with my highschool boyfriend (for the second time *sigh*), he asked me what I wanted, and Bride-to-Be (at the time) had a clauda (sp?) ring and I wanted one too.  A silver one.

Clauda rings are Irish wedding bands, if you don’t know; and depending on how they’re worn, they can signify the status of one’s relationship.  Being of Celtic decent myself, I liked that idea somehow.

I asked and he delivered- at Christmas he gave me a clauda ring.  It was beautiful, but big.  Really big.  It was a long time later before I clued in to what should have been obvious- it was a man’s ring.  He said I could get it resized, but my fingers are so small there wouldn’t have been much left to the ring, so I wore it on a chain.  It wasn’t really his fault- he was only 16 and didn’t know much about jewellery.

I broke up with him the following February when I met Ex, but I kept the ring for years, not really knowing what to do with it.  Finally, I gave it to one of my male friends.  It fit his finger perfectly.

The first Valentine’s day that I lived with my Ex in our first apartment, he gave me a ring.  Gosh it was lovely but ugly at the same time- lovely as an object, but ugly as a ring.  It had two garnet hearts on the sides, and on big one in the middle, surrounded by real diamonds.  He had tied it to my yearly box of Godiva chocolates, and before I had a chance to jump to conclusions, he cut in that it was a ‘promise ring’.  Someday, blah blah blah.  His father had found it actually, and never found the owner, so he gave to Ex to give it to me, who got it cleaned and appraised.  Worth about $500.

This ring was also big.  So I put it on a chain and wore it off and on for several years.

Near the end of our relationship, this ring went missing and I didn’t even notice.  It went missing because he took it, and kept it in his wallet.  He had gone well past his own deadline for proposing to me, and had kept it on his person to remind himself (torture himself really) of this thing that he couldn’t seem to do.

Monthes later, he bought another one.  An actual engagment ring.

However, by that point, I was done waiting.  I was done with a lot of things between him and I, and even though he had carried THAT ring around for something like a month, he didn’t pull himself together in time.  I never saw that ring.

Why did I do it? I often ask myself.  I was angry.  Because he had a real problem with comfort zones, and initiative.  I had watched him postpone and avoid many things in his life, and I didn’t like being one of those things.  I see a lot of myself in him- avoidance.  And that drives me crazy.  I’ve always tried very hard to change myself.  So I made the ultimate change, I guess.

When I think of rings, I can’t help but feel guilty- for my highschool ex, my current Ex, and I suppose they’ve become this reminder of how I run from certain situations.

I hope that someday that will change.  When I think of my current BF, it seems to be a possibility.

Come to think of it…

I can’t help but think of my own parents’ wedding- a very small affair with many relatives at the community church in my mum’s community.  I’m not sure how much her dress was, but the photos were just taken with a regular camera, the bouquets were small and simple, the reception was in the church basement.

I can tell by the pictures (many of which are blurry by the drunken hand of my uncle) that everyone had a great time.  The stories that I hear about my parents’ wedding have nothing to do with how much things cost, or how pretty the decorations were, but how much fun everyone had.

I can’t help but think of my grandparents, who got married in the middle of WWII- what kind of a wedding did they get? I certainly have never seen photos.  Their eldest child was born when they were still overseas in England.  I can imagine a humble wedding before a priest or judge, with an awesome reception afterwards showcasing British hospitality.

I can’t help but meditate on how much the concept of a wedding has changed, even in the course of a generation.  People seem ashamed to get married without a whole bunch of fanfare.  Much like Christmas, we get a high from going ‘all out’ and spending as much as we can to feel like kings for a day.

Me, I’m more concerned with the marriage part.  You get a lifetime of anniversaries and Valentine’s Days in that deal, on which to go crazy.  So much time to love and be loved.  That’s what I like.

The thing I keep re-iterating is “poor people get married too”.  And then they look at me like I’m retarded and don’t quite get it.  Of course I get it- but I want a wedding so I can be married.  We live in a country where we can marry just for love, and not just for obligation, or reasons of religion or culture. 

Much like we have to remind ourselves that the spirit of Christmas is giving, we have to remind ourselves that the reason for a wedding is loving.

Oy, I’m rambling.

Introduction

Okay, so here’s the deal.  A girl who used to call herself my best friend is getting married in about a year and 10 monthes or so (if I’ve got it right).  She has asked me to be her bridesmaid, but under somewhat tense circumstances- she and her boyfriend got together through the aid of my ex and I, when we were still together.  After breaking up with him (ending about a 5 year run), he continued to become closer to them, while I drifted farther away.  In this wake, I face several things: my ex as one of the groomsmen, a bride that is way, WAY more girly than I am (and hideously self-involved), a gal who could easily become a close friend of mine (if she wasn’t dating my ex) and the insufferable knowledge that once upon a time, not too long ago, everybody had expected my ex and I to be the ones tieing the knot.

Does it sound like a chick novel to you? Well, sometimes truth is just as hopelessly ironic as fiction.  Hence, the blog.