Most people have time to watch TV, read trashy novels, meander through malls, gossip on the phone, nap, daydream … Not me. I can’t indulge in such frivolous pursuits. I’m too busy looking for things I’ve misplaced.
Love Padlocks affixed at the N Seoul Tower, Seoul, South Korea with a sign prohibiting people throwing their key away. Optx, Wikipedia
In the time I’ve spent searching for lost keys, glasses, my pearl earrings, my favorite chili recipe, I could have written one of those trashy novels other people find time to read. Instead, I can only dash off this short article — which is a real exercise in futility since I won’t have time to send it to any publishers. I’ll be too busy looking for something. Like my car.
Yes, my car. I’m always losing it … on city streets, parking lots, and once in front of my own house. I used to rent a garage from the neighbors across the street, you see. One night I came home late, and instead of driving into the garage, I parked smack up against a stairway that leads up an embankment to my house. The next morning, a slave to habit, I headed for the garage. No car! It must have been stolen! I rushed back across the street to call the police, but something stopped me. My car. It was blocking the stairs. I had actually had to squeeze past it a few minutes earlier when I went to the garage.
I thought no one could ever top that. But, of course, someone did. At church last Sunday the priest’s homily concerned memory lapses. He told about a friend who had driven to Canada for a vacation. After a few days, he flew home — and promptly reported his car stolen because it wasn’t there.
I know my ‘stolen’ car story is true. It happened to me. But this parable from the pulpit is hard to believe. Still, would a priest make something up? Sure. Some even write trashy novels. (Sorry, Father Greeley).
I’m walking on thin ice here. I don’t want to hurt any feelings in high places. I rely on people at the top, mainly Saint Anthony and Saint Jude, when I’m really desperate to find something. Scoff if you will. Whenever I ask, they always come through and lead me directly to whatever had been missing. So what’s my problem? Why do I spend hours searching for misplaced miscellany? Why don’t I just call on Tony or Jude at the outset? Because I feel guilty diverting them from more important matters. Like listening to all those people begging for help in finding a cure for cancer, world peace, lost hope …
By comparison, locating that travel size bottle of shampoo that I bought for my last trip, for example, is ridiculously trivial. I sure would like to know what happened to it though. I clearly remember taking it out of the shopping bag and putting it on my bed, along with everything else I was packing. Then, somehow, it disappeared. I stripped the bed. I checked the floor around the bed, under the bed —even the bedsprings. That was six months ago, and it hasn’t turned up yet. Not a trace. Maybe the dog stole it. But if she did, she never used it; she still looks grungy. Baffling.
It’s not surprising that when describing me people often use the phrase, “She’s lost it.” They’re right. In more ways than one.
©Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com
and If These Are Laugh Lines, I’m Having Way Too Much Fun can also be ordered at Amazon.com or through Pelican Publishing (800-843-1724).
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