Witness my rapid descent into madness. I lost a cell phone. I lost an Ipod. I lost another cell phone. All in a year. And then, this morning, I lost my keys.
‘That happens all the time,’ you say. Ah, but do you lose your keys in the 3 steps it takes to move from the front door to the car door?
I pulled the keys out of my purse, locked and shut the front door, used the remote to unlock the car door for the school-bound children, walked to the car, and no longer had the keys. I retraced my steps. No luck. I plowed through leaves. No keys. I searched every backpack, every inch of ground, even cleaned out the car. No keys. I pulled out my spare keys, only to discover that they unlock doors but don’t drive cars. I sent the kids scampering off to school on foot. I re-searched the ground. I re-searched the car. I crawled under the car. I walked around the yard. I went back inside and searched every inch of space by the door. I looked in my room, in the fridge, the pantry, the cabinets. No keys. I called Hal and told him to bring home a straight-jacket. I called BlueSkies and told her to reserve a spot for me at Bellevue. This lady had gone crazy. And, we needed milk. Never run out of milk and lose your keys when the baby wants a drink.
We walked to the store. 4 miles round-trip. We came home. An image appeared in my mind: my church bag, which I hadn’t touched since yesterday afternoon. It wouldn’t hurt to check.
And guess what I found? I was so certain I’d used my keys to unlock the car door—and I had. I’d used the spare keys. And then I’d dropped them back in my purse, zipped it up, and forgotten all about it by the time I got to the car.
And this, children, is why I don’t work with power tools.