It’s my wedding ring!
It was sitting on the filthy bottom of a plastic mail bin full of some old cables I was digging through to connect together and reach from the trailer to my drums in the garage. Diane and I had given up all hope of ever finding it, figuring it had fallen off outside the old studio, The Shed, now nothing but a mostly buried concrete foundation.
That’s not entirely true: I think Diane had given up. But every now and then I’d find an old box and think maybe…
Three moves, two states. Cubs. Trump. Now this? I tell you, anything is possible.