Are Diamonds Really Forever?

          Okay, let me answer that: No. In fact, I wasn’t even going to blog about this, but THEN IT HAPPENED AGAIN!

          Let me back up a few months to my vacation in Scandinavia. Nicole and I were sitting on a bus headed down the west coast of Norway, when suddenly I looked down at my hand and realized the main stone of my wedding ring was missing! This isn't my ring, but it shows you a triangular trillion cut, similar to mine:

          Heart-pounding panic ensued. I looked all over the area where we were sitting, up in the compartment where I had placed my bag, and tried to remember when I last saw the stone in place. I’d have noticed the empty prongs at breakfast, so I don’t think it happened then. But if the setting was loose, it could have fallen out while we were standing on the gravel, awaiting the bus. It could be completely unfindable if it fell out there. There was no point going back on that fruitless endeavor. (Hey—how come there are no sci-fi shows featuring space ships by that name? AND, I might add, many of them ARE on a fruitless endeavor.)

          Anyway, I tried not to cry. I didn’t want to spoil the trip. But my head and my heart were reeling. I’d lost my diamond! On top of this, the prongs were now scratching me and snagging my clothes, so I had to cover it with a Band-Aid. (Again, not my ring, but this gives you the idea):

          I called St. Bob who was, of course, a saint, and just told me to forget about it and enjoy the rest of the trip. I sighed. He's great at covering up his own concern when he knows I'm going ballistic.

          We made it home without my having to be put in a mental hospital (well, at least not for that), and had a jeweler replace the stone.  Can’t even think about that ka-ching. But then the prong repair was not as smooth as the original, and it kept snagging, causing me to worry that the stone would fall out once again.  We brought it in for several adjustments.

          All seemed fine until LAST WEEK when the stone was again gone!  I searched everywhere—the house, the car, the yard. No sign of it. So back to the jeweler we went, and this time they replaced the stone at their expense. 

          But now I keep looking at it, feeling the prongs, and making sure they’re intact, because three is definitely not a charm.

Three books, however, would be a charm. Check out all 25 of my books here, any one of which would make a FAB summer read!

Where Are You?

Honestly, I think I need a bullhorn.  And I need to take it into the parking lots of apartment buildings and simply yell, “Where is Marion Davies?”  Only I’ll use the actual name of the person I’m looking for, instead of a deceased movie star.

          Here’s the problem.  And it’s a problem all over America (have not surveyed other nations yet):  YOU CAN’T FIND ANYBODY.  A least not a body who lives in a large apartment complex.

          My church does what I think is a very cool thing.  We visit every single member, every single month. At least, ideally.  This way no one can go homeless, hungry, or even frustrated for very long, without someone coming to their rescue with meals, wheels, and a shoulder to cry on. But this also means I am constantly driving into apartment building parking lots where I cannot find specific residents.  It begins with the map:

          These maps are miniscule, and cannot be read from your car. 

Even in the dark of night (bring a flashlight), you must get out of your car and walk up to the sign where, with a good magnifying glass, you might be able to locate the unit you want.

But the buildings don’t always go in order.  You might see Building 11 right next to Building 35.  And then 19.  And then 4. 

Even if you know roughly where their building is, once you get into the belly of the beast, you find that the building numbers are no longer visible.  This can be due to the numbers NOT EVEN BEING POSTED, or due to fluffy trees

Or due to parking rooftops which block the numbers from any location where your car can legally drive.

And heaven help you if you wait until evening when it’s dark, because then you have no chance whatsoever of finding the correct building or unit.  And the chicken soup is getting cold, the ice cream bars are melting, and someone who actually lives here and knows his way around, is right on your back bumper flashing his brights so you’ll get a move-on.

So I am pleading—begging—builders of apartment complexes to forget entirely about the word “complex” and switch it for the word “simple.”  Follow the lead of tech folks, and make your structures user friendly.  We could all get used to saying, “Apartment Simple” and every time we said it, we’d smile.

Far easier to navigate is my website, with lovely tabs that can take you to my YouTube Mom videos, and of course my user friendly books.