miniature metallic momentos

I'm sorry about your dog tag cisco. Early during my second trip to Moldova, we had a bit of time one afternoon to shop around an outdoor market of artists and craftsmen and seamstresses and the like. I happened upon a silversmith who had a single ring that I liked and it happened to be the only ring that fit me. Several others with me ended up asking the guy to make rings for them and they picked them up later in the week. I really liked this ring. It was wide and embossed or carved, or whatever you would call it, (raised lettering) all around it had an inscription. I turned to my Russian translator and he said that it read, "rescue me" me in Rumanian. Well that settled it. I wore that ring constantly for a year. It became a constant reminder of those needing what I had to share. It was a physical reminder of a dream I'd had after my first trip over there. It was a symbol of a call on my life. The next summer, the ring broke, nearly coincidental with my next trip to Moldova. I asked jewelers about having it repaired, but was told that the silver was probably poor and that it couldn't be repaired without destroying it. For a long time, it sat beside my bed still a symbol, but somehow removed from me. Finally, I thought, I can't wear it now, so what's lost if it is ruined. I took it in for repair and signed a waiver that said that I was aware that it probably wouldn't survive. Four days later I picked it up, good as new, on my way to the doctor. The bill was $11.00, about 3 times what I'd paid for the ring. I was elated. I stuck it on my finger, went to the doctor and when I got home, no ring. I searched my truck, in crevices, under the carpet, called the doctor's office. It was gone. I mourned my misfortune. I carried a memory of a symbol of a memory. Memory is still there. Call is still there. Need is still there.