Until yesterday evening, I thought I knew what the main topic of today’s post was going to be…and then life, as it has a habit of doing, got in the way. The result is that this week’s offering is very different from what I had planned…or maybe not. I will leave it up to you to decide whether this results in a happy ending.

I had planned to talk about the domestic pleasures of our last days in Portugal. I particularly admired Tslil and Micha’el’s masterstroke – the decision to make Ollie’s birthday party a pizza party, and kill two birds with one oven stone. The morning of his birthday was dedicated to streamers, balloons, cards and presents, all of which proved very successful, both Ollie’s birthday presents and Tao’s un-birthday presents.

At Tslil’s suggestion, we gave Ollie a kitchen play set, comprising an ‘electric’ hob, frying pan, saucepan, a teapot, crockery and cutlery, as well as a selection of food items that makes for a limited and rather unbalanced restaurant menu: three different kinds of cracker, three different doughnuts, and one fried egg. This means that whoever Ollie, or Tao, is serving first is expected to eat their fried egg very quickly, so that the kitchen can fill the next order.

The hob requires batteries, to power the glowing light of the ‘element’ and to provide sound effects. Much to everyone’s relief, the sound is no more dramatic or intrusive than a convincing imitation of water boiling. I am the only one inconvenienced by this, or perhaps I should say ‘convenienced’, since it means I get the urge to go to the toilet even more frequently than usual.

Then, in the early evening, when the weather was a little cooler, the shaded backyard was a very pleasant pizza piazza. As always, the whole family got involved with the various stages of pizza preparation, and then we enjoyed a relaxed and delicious family supper, of which one of the highlights was a birthday greetings video Esther sent that Raphael had recorded for Ollie earlier. Ollie and Raphael blowing kisses to each other was enough to melt the cheese on the pizza, let alone all of the adults’ hearts.

After our last Shabbat together, which was, as always, very special, we all went to a reservoir beach on Sunday (yesterday, as I write). Only a 20-minute drive north from Penamacor, the site nestles among the tree-covered slopes of the foothills of the Sierra de Malcata national park. The reservoir itself is about 2 kilometres long and 500 metres across, and the beach occupies a triangular promontory that extends 200 metres into the reservoir. Most of the area is a grassy slope, with a stretch of sand at one point.

On one side of the promontory is a small children’s playground and a pizza café and bar, plus a jetty, at the end of which is a floating platform that features a very small infants’ paddling pool, a larger children’s pool and a small diving board. Off the jetty the water is several metres deep.

On the other side is a mooring for pedalos that are available for hire. Grandpa went out with Tao, who demonstrated a confident and capable hand on the tiller, managing to steer us away from crocodiles and marauding pirates. Micha’el then managed to persuade the delightful young man in charge to let him go out with Olly, who thoroughly enjoyed his short voyage, but very wisely held on to Abba’s hand and to the guard rail the whole time, while Nana hid her face in her hands and prayed very hard.

After both younger generations had worked up an appetite in the pools we all enjoyed a picnic tea with sandwiches made with the last of Grandpa’s rolls and rye bread. Then it was time for sandcastles, and burying Tao in the sand. Eventually, at around 7:45, we packed up and headed home, where I discovered that I was not wearing my wedding ring. I remembered taking it off to wash before the picnic, and I assumed I had put it in my trouser pocket. However, I soon established that it was in none of my pockets. It was then that I remembered that I had stupidly put it down on the picnic blanket, rather than in my pocket, and I had no recollection of putting it on again. It is, anyway, too tight a fit to slip off.

Even though I knew it was pointless, I searched the car. Bernice then searched the car, although I made her promise that if she found the ring there she would pretend that she had picked it up from the picnic blanket and not told me, as a practical joke. When I undressed last night, I searched all of my clothes thoroughly, then shook them all thoroughly, but with no success. I went to bed last night having decided that I would drive back to the beach this (Monday) morning, arriving as soon as it opened at 9AM, and search the area of the grass where we had picnicked.

So, this morning Lua and I had an earlier and rather shorter walk than usual, and I was indeed able to arrive at the beach just after 9 o’clock, feeling not very hopeful and not at all expectant of a good result. The whole area was completely deserted, and I started combing through the grass around where we had been sitting. Automatic sprinklers water the grass early every morning, so it was sodden, which didn’t make the search any easier.

After twenty minutes of searching in ever larger circles, I went down to the sand and combed through the area where I had dug a trench for Tao. I then worked my way down to where Tslil and Tao had run with the picnic blanket streaming out behind them. Finally, I returned to the area where we had sat. I made deals with bees: “The third flower you settle on will be where the ring is hiding in the grass.” I spun round with my eyes closed, walked four paces forward, turned left, walked another two paces, and looked down, hoping to see the ring gleaming in the grass.

I returned to the spot where I was fairly confident I had set the ring down on the blanket and scoured a circular area with a 30-centimetre radius as thoroughly as I could. I then walked to where we had parked the car the previous day and searched the unpaved area there. At this point, having spent in all 40 minutes searching, I accepted that I would not find the ring.

I walked back to my car and started the engine, feeling rather despondent. It’s not that my ring is particularly valuable. It is a thin, plain band of 9-carat gold that Bernice paid ₤3.50 for in 1972. Even allowing for inflation, the equivalent today is only about ₤35, or 165 shekels. While that was about all we could afford back then, I do accept that it is a modest sum. However, the sentimental value is of course very great.

And yet…As I drove, I started thinking, and, by the time I arrived back in Penamacor, I realised that this band of gold represented how precious is the life Bernice and I have made together over the last (very nearly) 52 years, but it was not in itself the preciousness of that life. What is truly valuable is the bond between us and the life and family that we have built together. Having spent the last month with the Portugal branch of the family, I don’t really need reminding about what is truly valuable. In the same way, returning tomorrow to Israel and to the other branch, I again won’t need any reminder.

As we steel ourselves for the inevitable downsizing that will have to accompany any move that we make to Zichron, the loss of my ring is a useful reminder that what we will be parting with does not measure up to what we will be gaining by being able to spend more time with Esther, Maayan and Raphael.

So, don’t you think that’s really a happy, 24-carat ending?