✨ My Husband

I’ve written plenty about my first husband and some of our adventures, so I figure it’s only fair I give Rick his time in the spotlight too.

Now, before you get the wrong idea—Rick’s not dead. Which means, unfortunately, I don’t get to immortalize him in glowing tributes without him fact-checking every word. Nope. He’s very much alive and will definitely be reading this. (Pray for me.)

Rick makes me laugh. He makes me yell. And somehow, he makes me a better person. I’ve always said nobody can make you do something you don’t want to do… but Rick? Oh, Rick has his ways. He doesn’t nag, and he doesn’t fight. Instead, he lays down on the floor, kicks his feet, pounds his fists, and cries like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Okay, okay—he doesn’t really do that. (But wouldn’t that be something?)

🚗 Rick vs. Me (Money Edition)

Here’s the thing: I’ve never been great with money.

Rick? He’s a human calculator.

Where I slam my foot on the gas and fly down the road, he eases onto the highway, checks the map, sets the GPS, and makes sure there’s gas in the tank before leaving the driveway.

His motto? “If it’s meant to be, it’ll still be there.”

Meanwhile, I’m yelling, “If we don’t get it TODAY, someone else WILL!”

Let’s just say… we’ve had some lively pit stops over the years.

But I’ll tell you straight: I wouldn’t be where I am without him.

🎄 The Great Ring Hunt

Now let me set the stage. From the day I met Rick, he worked construction all summer and was unemployed every winter. It was kind of like being married to a bear who hibernated—but with less snoring.

This is the story of how I got what would become my wedding ring.

It was Christmas, and we were living up in the Swan. I had a huge Christmas tree back then—so big it needed its own ZIP code. We spent a whole day decorating it. It was gorgeous.

Of course, being a cook, I had to work on Christmas Day (people gotta eat, even on holidays). So Rick decided to head to Washington with his sister, Sharon.

While he was gone, I figured I’d do something nice and wash his bathrobe. It was supposed to be white—long story; different day. Naturally, I checked the pockets before tossing it in the wash, and what do I find? A ring box.

But no ring inside.

Well, now I’m pacing the floor, head spinning. I did what any sane woman would do: I called Dorothy Butterfield—my best friend, my partner-in-crime, and the Great and Powerful Oz of Fernie.

“Dorothy,” I said, “you won’t believe what I just found.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “You idiot—he bought you a ring!”

“Yes, Dorothy, I figured that out. But WHERE’S THE RING?”

And so began the Great Ring Hunt of Christmas. Dorothy threw out hiding spots faster than I could check them.

“Medicine cabinet!” Nope.
“Under the mattress!” Nada.
“The ice cube tray!” …Really? But I checked anyway. Nothing.

We tore that house apart. Well—I tore it apart while Dorothy directed from the phone.

After a while, I gave up. I figured I’d just have to wait until Rick got home and play dumb.

When he called, I didn’t let on that I’d found the empty box. But I did mention I washed his bathrobe. To this day, he’s never told me what ran through his head when I said that.

🎁 The Surprise

But here’s the kicker—I wasn’t done.

I kept hunting. My gut told me the ring had to be hidden in that Christmas tree. I imagined Rick coming home, walking over, plucking it off a branch, and saying, “Look! It was right here all along!”

But Rick didn’t get that moment.

Because on my thirteenth (yes, thirteenth) inspection of the tree, there it was: hanging from a branch, sparkling like it knew the secret all along. I slipped it on my finger, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

And then—oh, the mischief kicked in.

I took every ornament off that tree, dragged the whole thing out the back door, and tossed it into a snowbank.

😂 Rick Comes Home

The look on Rick’s face when he walked into the living room? Absolutely priceless.

He stopped dead in his tracks, stared at the empty corner, and asked, “Where’s the tree?”

“I undecorated it and threw it outside. Had a bonfire with it,” I said, straight-faced. “I always take it down the day after Christmas so I can start the new year off with a clean house.”

He squinted at me, suspicious, but didn’t argue. Later he’d learn I do usually take it down before New Year’s—maybe not the next day, but pretty close.

Rick rushed over to the window, spotted the tree lying bare in the snow, and bolted outside. He picked it up, turning it over, inspecting it like he expected the ring to still be hanging on a branch.

I couldn’t help myself. Watching him stand there in the snow, holding that poor tree and staring at it like it held the answers to life—I burst out laughing. I’m just not a good liar; never have been.

He looked up at me, holding the tree like a man trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

I stepped outside, wrapped him in a hug, and said, “Come back in the house, honey. I found the ring. It’s safe.”

We went inside, and right then and there, he slipped the ring onto my finger.

💍 The Story Behind My Rings

Later, when we were planning the wedding, he asked what kind of ring I wanted. I told him, “Just the diamond. I want to use the red ring you gave me for Christmas as my wedding band.”

So if you ever see the rings on my finger—a diamond attached to a red band with two little diamonds—that’s the story.

Every time I look at them, I remember that Christmas, the tree in the snow, and Rick standing out there wondering what in the world I’d done.

💬 Wanda-ism

❤️ “Every ring has a story—mine just happens to involve a Christmas tree, a snowbank, and a very patient man.”

🎉 Pull up a chair. I’ve got a story.

🌟 Have you checked out my other stories?
Click on Wanda’s Stories — they’re all hanging out there!
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There’s a little something for everyone — happy reading!