Lost And Found And Lost

Does this sound strange?  Probably!  Even to me, but then again, I know myself — almost, sometimes, sorta.  Today I found my remote!  It was actually where it is supposed to be, in the pocket of my lift chair.  I checked that pocket so many times without finding it there that I inadvertently shoved it down to the bottom and wedged it there.  During my search I located all the places I would “always remember” when I put things away, and which, of course I always immediately forgot.  So I have recovered a large pile of things that have been lost for several years, wondered why I ever thought some of them were ever important enough to put away, breathed a sigh of relief at finding the rest, and immediately lost them again, but regained hope that since I now know the general direction to follow they will be easier to find when I want them the next time around.  My laundry card,however, is still on the list of the missing.

So, with my remote, I programmed my system to accept my DVD player and actually watched my own movies again, falling asleep during the best parts but knowing I have the option of playing them again any time I want.  Now all I have to do is figure out how to get back to regular TV and cable stuff, but maybe tomorrow.  And right now, she asks, what does the smell of rubber burning mean.  Okay, source located and resolved.  Some days I’m my own worst enemy.  Hopefully I’m my only enemy!

Now I’m going to share another pome with you, this one actually published in the Owensboro Messenger Inquirer, our hometown newspaper, sometime in the late ’80’s I think.

/Spring Cleaning

A crazy quilt of treasures is locked away in the trunk of my mind  I lift them out one by one to see what the years left behind

A faded rose, turned now to dust, reminder of long ago spring dance.  He gave it to me one night than left without backward glance.

A bracelet inscribed with a stranger’s  name, Inside it just says MIA.   I wore it so many years ago but it still seems like yesterday.

Curls from my babies’ first haircuts–all three are grown now and gone.  Their voices echo in my mind like words from an old love song.

An album of old photographs, we all were so young back then, not dreaming we’d one day be part of the fabric my daydreams would spin.

Granite marks a tiny grave– her candle burned seventeen hours.   A kiss in the air as she floated away– a white casket covered with flowers

They’re all stored away in my memory; brought lovingly out now and then, dusted, then carefully packed away to wait for spring cleaning again.

Mom found a small blurb in the paper about the article that would publish local “talent” and called me about it, encouraging me to submit something.  This was the first one published there.

r

Advertisement