Beyond The Sea

Have you ever lost something that is irreplaceable? Like perhaps, a wedding band? Well, I have - sixteen years ago this month to be exact. It wasn't in a house, the yard or the garbage - a place you could really search. I lost the ring in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Sandbridge, Virginia.

My husband and I were living and working not far from there. We were two years into our marriage and did not have kids yet.  My family had rented a house so everyone could come down from PGH to celebrate my sister's 21st birthday at the beach.

Being adventurous and kinda still newlyweds we decided to take an ocean kayak for a spin. Before entering the water I realized I had forgotten to leave my wedding band back at the house. I thought about leaving it on the blanket, but I remembered a story my mom had told about her sister losing a ring at the beach. I decided wearing the ring into the ocean was the safer option.

Skipper and Gilligan (I mean my husband and I) took to the high seas armed with our paddles ready to bond with aquatica. Just as we met the first wave our kayak tipped over sending us into a blue green bath. While I was underwater I felt my ring slip off my finger. I tried to step on it thinking I could retrieve it, but my hand only captured pieces of shells.

I frantically called for help and many came to my aid. Family, strangers, beach goers of all races and creeds looked for a glimpse of silver while I caused a major scene on shore. I certainly would have given Halle Berry or Dame Judy Dench some stiff competition during the Oscar run of 2002.   The search for the ring stretched into the late afternoon. Even people with metal detectors tried to lend a hand, but even novenas to St. Anthony could not help locate what Nemo probably ate.

The worst part of this story is that the ring was originally my mother's. She and my dad had picked out gorgeous silver bands when they were united by a justice of the peace back in 1973. They upgraded to gold when they got married in the church in 1985. My parents held onto their silver set and allowed my husband and I the privilege of using them when we got married in 1999.

As you can see the ring cannot be replaced, but not for lack of trying. Internet searches, flea markets, antique and jewelry stores have not turned up anything even close. But 16 years later, I still have not given up hope that my ring will return to me. For the past couple of years, my family has rented a house around the corner from where we stayed back in 2001. I have continued my search - during low tide, while standing in shallow water or while taking walks on the beach. Now don't get me wrong, I am not wasting lots of vacation time looking for my ring. (I do have to get some tanning in to help obscure the spider vanes on my legs for a few months.)

This past week I was on the hunt again and even enlisted the help of a fellow beach-goer who had constructed a sifter box to help catch crabs. I explained my story and simply stated, "If you find a silver band - it's mine." As someone who also had the experience of losing a wedding ring, I truly believe he would have given it to me if he found it.

My family thinks I am a joker short of a deck, but there have been unbelievable stories on the news of people returning long lost items to people. But a part of me is at peace with the fact that my ring calls the ocean home. I have been going on beach vacations since I was a baby.  I truly love going to the beach - the sounds, the sights and the feel of sand on my feet. With my ring lost at sea - a part of me is always on vacation.

                                      Mom and Dad's silver wedding bands circa March 1973

Workin' For A Livin'

Sometimes ordinary mundane situations have extraordinary outcomes. That was the case this week when my almost 15-year-old son was cutting our grass.

Watching him mow the lawn is often a painful experience. He has one speed - slow - and his method of mowing is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Each time he cuts the grass it looks like he is going to pass out from exhaustion, and that is after only five minutes. He will often leave a section uncut and forget our instructions in his teenage attempt to just get the job done. But earlier this week, somehow his lawn prowess earned him a job. His first actual J-O-B.

He has been trying to get us to pay him for mowing the entire lawn. Our yard is a lot and a half, so while we are not talking about tons of acreage, the job is not an easy one. (I know because I've done it.)  We have been reluctant to pay him for something he should do as part of our family, but I also know he needs some spending cash. We have been encouraging him to look for jobs close to home but nothing has worked out which meets our criteria: minimal activity, not many hours, preferably within walking distance, and did I mention minimal exertion?

When he was cutting our grass this week one of our neighbors came out to talk to him. This neighbor is the kind that is curious when things are happening around him and likes to ask questions. I noticed the two speaking and wondered what was up. I could not hear the conversation because my son did not turn off the mower during the encounter, which gave my husband and I a chuckle. Much like the conversation between Jack Butler, armed with a running chain saw, and Ron Richardson in the 80's classic "Mr. Mom".

A short time afterward, my son entered the house and told us he was asked to cut the neighbor's grass and they would work out the details later. I cannot really describe the emotions that accompanied this news - excitement, pride, happiness, fear, anxiety, dread. Yes, that is a wide range, but as a parent of a motivationally challenged individual I have reason for concern.

I know this is a different time and comparing my son to myself at his age is like apples and kiwi, but seriously, by the time I was 14 I had three jobs. I wanted to have my own money and be independent. I babysat, had a paper route and worked at my church's bingo. I remember items that I bought myself that filled me with a sense of pride: my Debbie Gibson black hat, my first Walkman and a stylish turquoise winter coat with shoulder pads. I was employed and lookin' good. (A perm and braces capped off the look, of course.)

In my son's defense, only one of my previous jobs is currently available to him. Adults in cars drop off whatever papers are still being home delivered and most churches no longer have weekly bingo events. Babysitting may not be a good option either since boys don't have the same mother hen instinct as girls and my son once went half a day without getting himself something to drink.

This job opportunity is a chance to show us and the world that all hope is not lost. Can this member of Generation Z put down his tablet and phone and get the job done? I know his "employer" has set up very strict parameters for what he expects to be done. Have we instilled a work ethic in our son to rise to the occasion, make us proud and earn his pay? Seriously, I don't know. Personally, it doesn't look good. But every now and then my son surprises me.

I know it's only a grass cutting, but this has the potential to teach him some valuable lessons about having and keeping a job. And although the material goods of today don't spark as much motivation as the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack or Swatch Watch of the 80's, maybe something will light a fire inside him to want to do his best and experience the feeling of purchasing a coveted item with money he earned. Or maybe he will be satisfied with hearing the words "Good job kid" and the self-esteem boost that comes with being recognized for a job well done.

Stay tuned. This adventure starts soon.