Hunt & Peck

Car keys. House keys. Wallet. Cell Phone. Chapstick. Air pods. TV remote controls. Car (in crowded parking lot).

Hardly a day passes without something being lost.

Always those lost items are found.

In a pocket. On the key hook. In Lot B of Blossom Music Center. Snugged between couch cushions.

I don’t mind things being lost (and, then, found). My objections relate to the frantic searching that precedes the inevitable finding. The patting of pockets. The charging up and down stairs. The sighs that are obvious ploys for help. The wanderings in grocery store lots, steering the cart while simultaneously pressing the alarm button on the car key fob.

When I am searching for something, I am...well..searching.

When my husband is searching, he wants help. Someone to keep him company while he mutters and tries to remember the last time he had the (FILL IN THE BLANK) _______.

At issue is my reluctance to provide assistance. After all, I was not the one who misplaced the Whatever- It-Was. Eventually, though, I pitch in. To sit idly by is to ensure an elevated heart rate. My buzzing head space as I think: Where? Oh...Where? My oft-repeated mental mantra: Do not engage. Do not engage.

Then I engage. I help with the hunting and the pecking.

Once found, the lost thing is forgotten about. Success pushes it to a back burner. Until the next time. Truth be told...I am much less alarmed by the losing of things than the losing of words.

Yes. Words have begun to hide from me. They are slippery and sly. I’ll write about Lost Words another time.