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Friday, 09 March 2012

Losing Things No 2: The Angry Confession

By Stroppy

Jenny knew she had placed it on the bureau in the den. She always put things there that she knew she had to come back to and discuss with Max. But now it was gone, out of sight, disappeared.

She picked up a few other papers, now finished with and waiting to be filed, but no, the letter she sought was not there. She got down on her hands and knees, no easy task these days, thinking it may have slipped down behind the bureau, where there was a narrow space between the bureau and the wall. But no, it wasn’t there either.

Jenny struggled to her feet and as she rose, she put her hand to her back feeling that twinge starting up again. Damn, she thought, not the back again.

“Oh, Dear! Somebody has moved it, or it would be right here where I left it,” she said crossly, thinking immediately of Max. It couldn’t be anyone else as there were only the two of them at home now, she continued, talking to herself, a habit that was becoming increasingly normal these days.

She returned to the kitchen where Max sat quietly reading the morning paper with a coffee. “Max,” she said, “have you moved the papers from the bureau in the den?”

“No,” he replied, not lifting his eyes from the paper.

“Max!” she said more assertively, “the letter from the solicitor, I can’t find it, you must have moved it. I remember telling you it was there, now it’s gone.”

“Haven’t seen it,” said Max, still not looking up from the paper.

Jenny exasperatedly turned to look around at the kitchen bench where Max always kept his pile of stuff and woe betide any one who moved them, as Jenny knew only too well. Her back twinged making its presence felt again. Jenny moaned a little, not that Max noticed, she observed.

She looked carefully through his pile of papers and saw the solicitor’s letter wasn’t there. Oh, dear she thought, I think I had better get a couple pain killers into me or I’ll be in trouble all right, as she knew from old. Her back problems were the bane of her life, not that anyone else seemed to care.

As she reached the bathroom door, the telephone on the hall table rang. “I’ll get it,” she called to Max and turned quickly in its direction. A sharp spasm grabbed her back.

“Ouch!” she cried, and stood holding her back until it passed. Tentatively, she took a step within reach of the phone, just as it stopped ringing. Jenny was furious.

She managed to turn without too much pain and stagger to the bathroom. Perched gingerly on the bath stool in front of the medicine cabinet, with a glass of water and tablets in hand, she saw it. The letter was on the vanity basin, she remembered, she had taken it in to the toilet, to have a second read before going to bed last night. She had completely forgotten.

Suddenly Max appeared in the doorway. “Do you want me to go and look in the rubbish bin, Jen?” he said, just as his eyes too, saw the letter. “There it is love,” he said gleefully. “how did it get there?”

With a withering look in his direction and a voice sharp as his razor, Jenny angrily confessed, “I put it there last night and forgot! I’m going to have a lie down, my back’s killing me.”


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Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

Comments

I'm like Felix in "the Odd Couple."
My mother's injunction that "There is a place for everything and everything in its place" has reverberated in my ears down through the years.

So it was with some annoyance that I found my keyring missing from the hook on the wall next to the kitchen sink.

In earlier years I would have panicked, but while irritated, I took my time and methodically retraced my steps from yesterday afternoon when I last used my keys.

I looked in all the usual places: in the bedroom, living room, dining room, bathroom - behind and under every conceivable object.

I put on my coat to check the mailbox to see if I left the keys dangling from the door of the mailbox.

As I turned to leave, I glanced at the wall next to the stove where I hang a flashlight and a magnifying glass. The magnifying glass was on top of the microwave, and in its place was - my keyring.

Dear Stroppy,
You could have been writing your story about Bob and myself, just change the names and it is Bob that has the bad back. So glad you shared what I suspect is a common condition in two-person homes after the kids are gone.

We finally develop the strategy of of reducing the number of places we have to look when we can't find something; 1. My pile, 2. Your pile, and 3. Where could it be?.

Personally I don't know how single people, living alone, handle this issue. The issue is not one of having a partner around. The issue is they don't have anyone to blame when something is missing. Dogs and Cats don't count....
Michigan Grandma

With regard to being 'young at heart' I think of this phrase as pointing to high energy, spontaneous emotional expression, along with a sense of wonder and enthusiasm. These qualities in combination are rare and precious in all adults, including the old. Many adults have kept only childish narcissism without the energy and without the wonder. Being old is good, if one has learned patience, a certain humorous skepticism, and how to husband limited energy. But for an old person to be 'young at heart,' is an additional gift, sometimes the precious fruit of spiritual life.

Huh, wait til you look and look for your glasses that are on your head! Worse, the kids walked by me several times and looked with me and never saw them! This whole forgetfulness is genetic!

After reading this, I remembered I hadn't taken my BP meds. I was stressing, but the laughter at the end, I'm sure, took care of that.

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