I need to go to the DMV to get a replacement drivers license. The last meeting I had with my drivers license was last week when I removed it from my wallet along with my cash card so I wouldn’t be troubled dragging my purse around. Great idea. Instead I troubled myself by searching the house, all the stores I visited and their respective parking lots for my lost drivers license and cash card. Where the hell did I put it? Don’t know.
I know if I go to the DMV, I will find the old one. On the other hand, the DMV will surely provide some material from which to write. There’s that.
Have you ever noticed that sometimes you find things, not where you least expect, but where you should expect to find them? Really, I am amazed when I am amazed to find my shoes in the closet.
Whenever I misplace things I think about the grandmother of a childhood friend. “Gran” was getting on in years, but lived with her daughter and grandchildren. Her exploits were constant fodder for the high school lunch table. One of Gran’s famous moves was when she insisted on cleaning up after dinner. The next day they found the leftover pot roast in a cabinet. Gran was also given to platitudes. She overheard my friend complaining about her mother and Gran reminded her, “Your mother is going to heaven in a basket.” It’s had a Moses-in-the-bullrushes ring to it. The alternative, of course, was a fast train to hell. Wonder where I will end up and how I will travel.
I found my missing checkbook in the car spare tire well some two years after it went walkabout and only then when I had a flat tire. M’s passport returned after it was found in the middle of the street outside a pizzaria where his ex-girlfrend worked (stalker?). Scissors found in the spot I went to put the replacement scissors, thinking it was a new and better place to store them.
PS:re your license and card: have you done laundry lately? Check all pockets and the bottom of the washer/dryer. Just saying and based on experience.
Scissors are a painful memory for me; growing up we never had sharp scissors. Seriously our scissors were so bad that even when I tried to cut a Valentine out of construction paper, the paper would just bend. My parents probably bought them when they were married in 1938 and never tended to their upkeep. Somewhere deep inside me, I vowed to one day own a house with usable scissors at my fingertips.
All went well til the kids came. Then, despite my best efforts, the scissors were always missing from their assigned location. In desperation I took a Sharpie and wrote on the handle: RETURN TO KITCHEN OR DIE
Fast forward several months. I volunteered our family to decorate one of the pine trees in front of church which is located next to my children’s school. For the life of me I don’t know why I brought scissors to the tree trimming but I did.
The following day I got a phone call from the school secretary. And yes, someone had found them, she called the rectory and found out we were the trimmers and wondered whether we were the owners of the scissors with the dire warning.
The moral of the story is that, although I failed to frighten the family into returning things to their proper place, I had the community on alert.