Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Private Idaho

I just spent an hour looking for a book for one of the book groups I go to. That was the hour I had planned on finishing the book, but since I couldn’t find the wandering thing, I couldn’t finish the book. I remember, very clearly, leaving it on the couch. I checked under the cushions, under the couch, around the couch. I looked all over the whole house: my room, under my bed, around the kitchen table. Nothing. I thought I’d finally lost my tenuous grasp on reality. I had such a clear memory of leaving it on the couch that I knew I must have gone over the edge into the warm pool of insanity. Out of desperation, I asked the 3 year old if she’d seen it.
“Oh, yes, I put it behind the TV.”
Oh. Behind the TV. Of course. Why didn’t I think to look in the dusty, spider-playground abyss that is Behind The TV? And what a logical place to put a book.
To her credit, she had a thought process. Her 19 month old cousin is visiting and she had a concern that he might hurt the book. So, she put it in the only place she could think of that he couldn’t reach: Behind The TV.
And fat, pregnant chick had the joy of trying to fish it out. Because of course, 3 year old couldn’t reach it after she tossed it back there. So imagine a hump-back whale, beached, leaning between the wall and the TV to ferret out a book that should have been read an hour ago.
The book is worth finding, though. I’ve read it at least 5 times, but it still makes me giggle. Mama Makes Up Her Mind by Bailey White. When I first read it, I saw myself in Bailey’s place. Now that I’m on the verge of checking into my own private Idaho, I find myself nodding in agreement with the mother. Of course earthworms need a bit of adventure.

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