I know I have mentioned before that I’m a total loser. Not in the perjorative sense but in a more adjectival sense, as in someone who continually loses things.
It’s a family affliction: my mother had Saint Anthony on speed dial and frequently could be heard muttering
the mantra:
“Tony, Tony, turn around,
Something’s lost and must be found”
On my first trip to Europe we stopped in at his Basilica in Padua so I could thank him in person on her behalf.
Mark has long ago learned to recognize the signs: a poor attempt at feigning nonchalance as I repeatedly empty my purse or scurry from room to room and then back again. “No, no, nothing’s the matter, dear…I just feel like bench pressing the couch with one hand….” He knows there’s a good chance at least one junk drawer will be cleaned out and, perhaps, the mountain of laundry will be redistributed before the dust settles. Maybe even a little vacuuming and a general reduction in the ‘to go downstairs’ collection on the counter beside the basement door.
What’s to complain about?
I have specific places to put small things like keys and rings. Not that I always remember to put them there but, more often than not when that “oh crap, where’s my…” strikes, I can comfort myself with at least 2 places to check before diving under the couch cushions.
The most recent episode involved 2 very small but vital mp3 players. Vital because these are IRivers; they not only play music but have wicked powerful external microphone capability. As in to record sounds like people talking. And 
these wee gems are not made anymore. They are the Betamax of mp3 players. I will pause while everyone under the age of 40 consults with the adults in the room to learn of the Betamax vs. VHS war of 1985.
They had come along on my most recent journey to Toronto and Edmonton in case I needed the voice files on them for a current project. I had carefully packed these devices plus my laptop and headphones but, not surprising to anyone who knows me, neglected to bring along the cord that would connect the IRivers to the laptop.
We have several boxes of cords with a staggering variety of sizes of differently shaped ends in all possible combinations all over the house. I thought I had grabbed the right one plus a few others just in case.
Nope.
I could connect my camera to the laptop or my iphone to the laptop and, apparently, connect a digital video camera currently up in the arctic to a computer currently collecting spiders in the basement.
Yeah. I don’t know why we still have that one either.
So, I packed away the precious Irivers. I’m sure I put them away. I may have unpacked them again in Edmonton but I swear I remember putting them away before leaving.
Then again, I was sure I’d put them on the couch the day after I got home.
I hate these mind games I play with myself.
So I went through my suitcase and my carry-on bag. And again. And again. Then under the couch. Then under the chair. And into another pack just in case, in some moment of blind efficiency, I’d actually put them where they were supposed to be. Ha ha ha.
Under the bed. Through an underwear drawer because, well, you just never know. I realize I haven’t advanced to the point where I’d put them in the vegetable crisper but, hold on, let me just take a … nope. Phew.
I swear we have a house Pooka who moves things around from where I put them to some other location. My theory is when I’ve lost something I will find something else I’d given up hope of ever finding. My pooka likes to swap things out. Most times it is merely a matter of waiting for the 6 foot rabbit to tire of the game. Sometimes it is a matter of buying a replacement in order to find the original right where you thought you’d looked 5 times. At least.
Due to the fact these recorders are nigh on to impossible to replace and one of them was on loan to me from my trusting, patient, wonderful and generous husband, there was a certain urgency in finding them.
Which I did, 2 days and a flurry of frantic emails later, in a small case where I’d packed the headphones. Of course. Because I wanted to keep everything all together.
I hate it when I try to outsmart the pooka by putting things away in a safe place: it’s like I’m doing the work for him.
