Saturday, March 6, 2010

Lost & Found

When I was a kid, I could not keep track of my stuff.  I was constantly looking for that shoe or that doll or that toy.  Sometimes I would ask my mom for jewelry for holiday gifts and she would say, "No, you'll just lose it."  I would protest violently, but it was true. 

Once my great aunt Dotty gave me this garnet ring.  It was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen.  It was yellow gold with a rectangle-shaped dark red garnet and three tiny diamonds running up each side of the rectangle.  It looked so beautiful and expensive and I loved it so much.

So I took it with me to Girl Scout camp where I lost it after taking it off to go swimming and putting it who knows where for safekeeping.  (Maybe it was stolen?  I don't think so.  I think it fell out of my bag somewhere between our campsite and the swimming pool.  I retraced my steps several times but never found it.)

Anyway, sometime in college I managed to start keeping track of things.  In a graduate program where some of friends have overdue fines for books they can't locate and where my advisor has occasionally misplaced a chapter draft, I am actually considered an organized person.  My love for office supplies has helped to support this ruse.  And for the most part, I actually do a pretty good job of keeping my stuff together.  

But just when I start feeling confident, things start disappearing.

The last few days, I have been so absent minded.  Things keep getting lost and just when I am about to fly into all-time panic mode, David finds them.

This is not so unusual a scenario, as I sometimes think something has gotten "lost" only to discover that David has actually moved it somewhere other than the place I specifically put it.  But my husband's anal-retentive issues are another story.

Yesterday I was trying to make it out the door in time for Jazzercise.  My car keys were not on the hook by the front door where they live.  They were not on the floor under the hook.  They were not on the table by the front door or the bar or my desk or my dresser.  I decided to grab the extra car key and find my real keys later.  Couldn't find the extra key because David had moved it.  Called David to find out where the extra key was, getting frustrated with (1) my inability to keep track of things (2) his annoying habit of moving shit around without mentioning it to me, when David suggested I check the front door.

My keys had been hanging from the front door lock all night long.  (My mom later told me that on a trip with a girlfriend in college, her friend had left their hotel room key in the door to their hotel room all night long.  Which is clearly even worse.)

I went to work yesterday expecting to find my planner, which I hadn't seen since Saturday.  It wasn't at my office at school, it wasn't at my desk at home, it had to be at the learning center.


I texted David and he said he hadn't seen it.

Then he recanted that night and said he'd seen it on the bar last Saturday.

Turns out it was hiding under the Pioneer Woman's cookbook on my kitchen counter.

Now I've lost the lid to the oatmeal.  I know what you're thinking.  How do you lose the lid to the oatmeal?

I have no idea.

In the five minutes it takes to make oatmeal, I lost the lid.  It's not in the trash.  Not under the toaster oven.  Not in a drawer.  Not with the canned goods.  I can only hope that David can magically locate this lid as he has located my other belongings.  Until then, my oatmeal is being kept fresh with the help of saran wrap and a rubber band.

Plus I am left with that feeling of total incompetence that comes with losing things.  Seriously.  The lid to the oatmeal?  I have no idea.

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