Although I noticed the weather this morning, it took me a while, a lot more than a while, to discover my plumage. After laughing, I wondered if it was a sign or a bizarre twist of fate. Should I play the lottery? Would this be my lucky day? What if editing a fantasy thriller unlocked my imagination and a feather floated into reality? Ridiculous, but it’s a strange snowy day mystery, nonetheless.
I had been awake for over an hour. Had washed my hands twice. Typed comments on a few blog posts. Stopped by social media. Tweeted and retweeted a few tweets, never noticing my wedding ring’s new accessory.
And then it tickled me.
I used to be a morning person, up at 6:00 AM all through college. Drove my roommates nuts. Somewhere along the line I became a night owl. I stayed up late last night and read, “The Chamber of Secrets.” (My sister gave me the whole shebang set of Potter books for Christmas and am working my way through.) In my defense, I’m a bit tired this morning.
Back to my lack of observation skills:
What the hell?
I had to look twice. At first, I thought it was a ripped plastic bag. I made a note that I should take my ring in for an inspection to make sure I wouldn’t lose the diamond. Then the super slow sludge sloshed around in my cranium.
Wait a minute. I hadn’t been near a plastic bag this morning.
When my bleary eyes took a third look, I cracked up laughing.
Where did a feather come from? I don’t use a down pillow.
An old elementary school song popped into my head.
“Stuck a feather in my cap and called it Macaroni.” You know the old Yankee Doodle song? Now it can become your earworm.
I had to photograph it.
While awkwardly turning my hand to take a picture my doigt å plume, (sorry the accent is going the wrong direction and I’m too lazy to fix it), I remembered what a college boyfriend fondly said about them.
“You have Elizabeth Taylor hands.”
Not sure what her hands looked like, but the message was as clear as a shout through a megaphone. Okay, so that’s pretty muffled.
As clear as a Colorado morning. It’s snowing today, so that doesn’t work either.
As clear as the sound of vinyl on a turntable. YES! The sound is much better than a CD’s electronic recording. Records are making a comeback, you know.
Anyway, I GOT IT. I will NEVER BE A HAND MODEL.
That’s obvious. My short squatty fingers are one thing. The fact that I use them as tools on a daily basis shows in the scars from unfortunate kitchen and art project events. They’ve been burned numerous times even though I take pride in my asbestos fingers and can usually pull anything bare-handed from the oven. Usually being the key word.
My fingers have been broken from playing sports. Catching a football is a thrill when you’re young and playing with boys from class. Running the wrong direction, not so much.
I’ve never been a girly girl and don’t use hand moisturizer that often or ever have manicures. I filed them yesterday for the first time in weeks. Good timing.
So, how did the ring become feathered? It had to be jabbed in a precise and perfect way for it to poke under the stone’s setting while sleeping. My ring is still feathered and it’s almost noon.
Dumb luck or something else?
Whenever feathers are involved, I think of The Secret. It’s the bible of manifestation believers. The first time I tried out the Power of attraction, I concentrated my imagination on an extraordinary feather. The next day, I found it in a parking garage. After that, I won EVERY door prize including a Heli-ski trip. It works.
However the feather made its way to my fourth finger and whether a clever act ever will be believed, the bizarre kept me bemused for over four hours while the peculiar fact remains on my ring.
It was worth a giggle and a silly poem on a snowy Friday when I was in need of a blog post anyway.
I’ll never know how the feather slipped into the ring’s setting but it hasn’t fallen off.
Maybe it will start a trend.
Would you stick a feather in your ring? What do you think of my new plumage? Luck or a sign?
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