Since her fairly recent move out of state, I missed her so much. Though we spoke on the phone regularly, I longed for her presence. Thoughts of her tugging at my heart, I decided to send a gift as a token of my love. Bandying about ideas of just what the right gift might be, I recalled her delight as she gazed at the ring. It seemed the perfect gift. After all, rings are a symbol of union and connection. A ring for her would be, in her own words, a “nice touch.”
I stood at the jewelry counter carefully scrutinizing the glittering stones and creative settings in the brilliantly polished glass case. When I pointed to the setting my daughter had admired, the dark-haired, dark-eyed jeweler smiled demurely, opened the case and retrieved the ring. He held the beautiful gleaming ring up in the air, eyeing it from a distance. Then he examined the stone closely with his loupe. Next, strangely enough, he blew a little puff of air on it, as though it were dusty. His final act of preparing the piece of jewelry for my inspection was to meticulously shine it with the chamois cloth he carried in his back pocket. Finally pleased with the ring, he smiled, handed it to me and explained, “The scintillation of this ring is superb!”
As I examined the scintillation of the ring, a young girl—perhaps seven or eight years of age—walked in. Steps behind the girl, a woman followed. I presumed she was the girl’s mother. Upon seeing them, the jeweler's serene demeanor changed instantly. His solemn yet friendlyface lit up with a beaming smile. His dark tranquil eyes suddenly transformed, radiating joy, shining with an extraordinary sparkle far surpassing any of the stones in the case.