The Final Polish: Putting Stuff Away — Forever

In an endless attempt to clean up and store all the extra stuff in life, the final polish is to put it away permanently — by finding a place for it which will be forever safe. 

In the course of organizing my pictures, I lost this one. I have no idea how. I must have deleted it, but I didn’t do it on purpose. Maybe while I was setting up a new computer and transferring files, this one fell between the chairs? Or got lost in some device, like maybe an ancient hard drive that no longer works. Or on an old DVD or floppy disk. Regardless, it is gone. I really liked it.

Path in the woods – A picture of a picture because I can’t find the original!

I have this picture because once upon a time, I printed this on canvas. I gave the picture away, but before I gave it away, I took a picture of the picture.

I lose things.

It’s not new. I have always had a habit of putting important items – papers, jewelry, lenses, cameras — in a safe place. Because, for some inexplicable reason, I have decided wherever it was, wasn’t safe enough. The problem is, wherever it previously was will be the place I remember it being. I will not remember the new, safer place I put it. If, indeed I put it anywhere and didn’t just put it down, go do something else, and forget about it.

The new, improved place to which I move it is guaranteed to be a place I will never remember. It’s also possible I move things in my sleep. Yes, I sleepwalk. I know this because other people have seen me sleepwalking. Also, there are other things that only make sense if I did them in my sleep. No rational (or waking) explanation is possible.

The jewelry I found in the bottom of Garry’s underwear drawer? I’m pretty sure he didn’t put my necklace there. In any conscious state of mind, I would never put anything there, other than his underwear. Or, for that matter, the bundle of jewelry I discovered in the piano bench. Why would anyone put their jewelry in the piano bench? Even me?

The worst losses are accidental. I have something important in my hand. I need to do something else, so I put down. Temporarily. Life moves on. I meant to go back and deal with it, but … it’s gone. Where did I leave it? Sometimes, I can find items by retracing my steps. I start by remembering in which room I picked up the thing. Where I went next and after that. Occasionally, this actually results in finding the missing piece. Mostly, it doesn’t, probably because the retracing was imperfect. And I forget about pockets. How many there are and  how much stuff you can shove into them.

Lost stuff can appear years later while I am hunting down something else that has gone missing. It can be a thrilling discovery … or it’s a duplicate of  papers I’ve already replaced.

A couple of friends of mine recently became widows. One of them strongly recommended I put our papers in order. Things like the deed to the house. Our birth certificates. I don’t have to worry about dealing with our fortune since there is none. In fact, it turns out all we will need — either of us — will be our birth certificates, social security cards, and a few passwords. One sheet of paper in a manila envelope. I don’t even have to worry about the money needed to bury one or both of us because there is no such  money. Presumably, we’ll get buried, one way or the other. Garry and I discussed this, then realized there was nothing we could do about it. He’s too old for life insurance and I’m too sickly to get any. We agreed to stop worrying about it because there’s no point in worrying about something you have no power to change. Anyway, I figure the state has to do something with our bodies. I don’t think it’s legal to just leave us lying around.

Too bad we aren’t allowed to be buried on our own property. We’ve more than enough room and our earth would be happy to have us.

I’m still searching for the missing picture. Not all the time, but every time I’m in one of my storage drives. It may turn up, someday. Or not.

Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure Garry has our birth certificates and our passports. As for the deed, probably the bank has a copy from whenever they took over our mortgage. Maybe they’ll make a copy for us if we ask nicely.

Categories: #Photography, Humor, Personal

Tags: #Photography, Daily Post, humor, lost stuff, memories, Personal, remembering