Most newspaper clipping services have become electronic but my mother still renders old-fashioned service with scissors at hand. She is unable to recycle any of her two daily and four weekly newspapers before reading them thoroughly and physically cutting out stories that she thinks might be of interest to a myriad of friends and relatives. Giant pumpkins for one, dumpster diving for another, police reports involving people from my high school class…The problem is the lag time between the delivery, the read date and mailing an envelope (with proper postage). Some articles are up to a year old. Newlyweds could be expecting their second child by the time my mother mails me the wedding announcement.

Receiving clippings from my mother takes on the same mysterious quality as notes that drift from long-shelved books. Why did I save this? What is this from? Likewise, not everyone reads articles at the same time, whether print or online. Instead of a column slipping from a book, readers follow some unknown trail through online archives lighting back years earlier. Even in person if someone says, “I really liked your column” I have no idea which one they are talking about. Each week’s print column mentally erased by whatever I have already sent in for the next edition.

Even if it turns out we’re not discussing the same subject, the reason I love writing this column is the direct contact with someone who reads what I write. That’s if I’m lucky, because lately it is newish husband Martin who is getting the attention and I’m just his companion. Hugs at the Farmer’s Market, inquiring emails, people he’s never met before in his life say immediately upon introduction, “Did you find your wedding ring?”

I saw a license plate on a truck a few blocks away that sums up his situation – FODDER. Ever since I wrote about how Martin lost his Ballard-purchased wedding band four days after it went on his finger there has been a long trail of concern as neighbors work their way back to a September column. Underneath a polka dot umbrella in front of Bartell Drugs, neighbor Mary Lou said, “Oh Peggy. I’m so sorry about Martin’s wedding ring.” Has there ever been another one of my columns that generated so much concern?

In truth there are weeks when I don’t even feel like doing my column. I’ve been teaching. I’ve had other deadlines. I have searched the house high and low for a missing vacuum cleaner part. The casserole dish cracked while we were baking the vegetables from our Sail Transport box and the oven needs to have caked cream and cheese scraped from the bottom. There are magnolia leaves to rake, the Japanese Maple has a fungus (we’re going to need to replace the soil), the cat’s underbelly is seriously matted or I would just like catch up on my own pile of unread newspapers.

Then, the phone will ring with one of those tips like the phone call before Walt and Helen Carlson’s 74th wedding anniversary or the one about Joyce Van Tuyl’s forced retirement due to budget cuts at the Washington Center for the Talking Book. Usually the column’s not my story; I’m just the messenger as diligent as any courier service. The reward is the possibility that my column will cause someone to spit out their morning coffee because they’re laughing at the mental picture of Martin confronting the bicycle thief, a reader might take all their pennies to Adams School for the Penny Harvest or a neighbor might say a prayer to St. Jude for Martin’s wedding ring to appear.

Our lives can change too quickly, too tragically. A father can die of injuries suffered after he picks up his daughter at daycare. Another man can become a hero. Events take place that can never be undone. There will be no 75th anniversary for Walt and Helen Carlson; he died four months after their 74th anniversary.
Others thrive even as their lives change. Joyce Van Tuyl clipped the column about her retirement but at age 85 is far too busy to look back. The braillist herself is teaching math and science transcription for the Department of Education, and playing more bridge. Retired middle school teacher Jay Sasnett went camping at Mount St. Helens with Salmon Bay Middle School again – because he could. Some of us survived our weddings and others their reunions. Reporters move on. Lombardi’s is gone but soon a new business will reveal itself. As did Martin’s wedding ring after having been lost for eighty days.

Our breakfast nook has bench seating. Last Sunday morning I opened a bench to find Martin a canvas bag for a trip to Ballard Market. It was a mess so I started pulling out all the paper bags, plastic bags and canvas totes. There was a sudden metal clatter. I picked up the ring before I even realized what I had found. Catching the brass ring on the merry-go-round was never as sweet as finding the band that we had accepted as gone forever. So I just had to tell you this, no matter when you read it - the wedding ring is back. And when you see Martin, when you meet Martin, you can give him a hug because sometimes what is lost can be found like a clipping long misplaced.