Last night I had a scare.
No, I was not in the ER yet again. (Surprisingly, we have stayed out now for near
ly five months – better find some wood to knock on!)
No, there was not a sudden problem with a household appliance and neither was part of the house falling apart. (Another string of good luck on that one, although there is that funny toilet sound – hmmmm…….)
No, there was not a major car repair suddenly thrust upon me (unless I count needing brakes soon for the Dodge Ram . . .)
No, I simply lost something VERY important to me.
I repeat – I lost something VERY important to me!
Yes, Houston, er Crosby, er me – we have a problem. A big one!
I spent the greater portion of two hours searching every nook and cranny, all my little spots where I might have put something important. I remember moving it from a safe place to a safer place, but I couldn’t remember the safer place.
The spookiest part of the ordeal was that I have been deep cleaning my house
for the past two weeks. I’ve moved furniture (well Twin A & Twin B did), I’ve cleaned out closets, drawers, cabinets, hutches, etc. I’ve reorganized entire sections of the house in an effort to make things work for me.
And – I will admit it – no matter how painful it is – yes – I have been known to lose things forever after one of these cleaning obsessions, uh binges, uh episodes, uh – whatever.
The loss put my whole evening in a funk. I finally gave up and prayed to St. Anthony of Padua, the Patron Saint of Lost Things.
Dear St. Anthony, please come around, something’s lost and must be found.
I also asked the Blessed Mother to help me find it as well. After all, how many times a day do I unroll my tired bones and help my sons (who am I kidding – it’s usually Twin B) find their keys – their wallet – a particular shirt – blah, blah, blah! (At least they don’t need to find themselves.)
I then went to bed, determined that, in the words of Scarlett O’Hara – “Tomorrow is another day.”
This morning, I took another gander at my hutch where I have my Blue Italian Dishes. (Why Blue Italian? Well, that’s another story for another day.) Yes, I had pulled out the gravy boat, the sugar and creamer, the cups, the bowls, and had done so at least twice yesterday evening. But this morning – there it was – on top of a stack of serving plates.
Let me say that dear St. Anthony has NEVER let me down. I must admit, this is not the first time I have called upon him to get me out of a jam. (I won’t even go into how many times a day the Blessed Mother is there when I need her.)
And no, I won’t tell you what I lost. But – at least it is now found.