“The van is here!” And, much like “Drivers, start your engines”, we were off – me, hubby, Teri, Mary, and Norma. We were part of a group of eleven who would meet up with thirty-two others for a trip to Ireland. The front door opened and suitcases, tote bags, coats and people headed out. Hubby went ahead to talk to the driver and I said I would lock up the house. Doors and locks checked. House key in my hand and other keys safely tucked away in the house. I went to put the key on the hook attached to my cross-body travel bag and it wouldn’t latch on. I ran to the bedroom, found a key ring (it just happened to have an angel key fob attached which I took as a good sign), say a quick prayer for the safety of our home and the trip, then grab my things, set the house alarm, and walk out the door. Lock the door behind me and get into the van.
My coat and tote bag were tossed on the floor as I got into the seat and clicked the seat belt. I looked at my house key in my hand so I could attach it to the hook in my purse and no key. “Wait”, I yelled, “I’ve dropped the house key”. The driver quickly got out, opened my door and helped me down as I raced to the front door. Looking and looking there was no key to be found on the doormat, walkway, steps, sidewalk, or inside the van area. Norma suggested that perhaps I’d dropped it when I put my hand on the seat to get in. Hubby said not to worry (why didn’t that make me feel better?). Me? I took a big, deep breath, and said “let’s go”.
Riding to the airport I kept running my hand under the edges of the seat and the well area where the seatbelt comes up, praying that I wouldn’t find anything that was not able to be identified. No key but there was $ .37. Bouncing down the highway I looked through my travel purse with the multi zipped compartments, my large tote bag, and the pockets of my coat. No key. Once through security and in our waiting area I checked again. No key. I even called the neighbor across the street and asked him to take a look for me. No key.
Even on the plane I looked again, probably much to the annoyance of the gal next to me. This pocket and that, zippered or snapped. No key. If I was someone who often misplaced things this would not be unusual, but I’m not and it was.
That night it was difficult to get to sleep, then, all at once, around 10 p.m. I felt calm and my worries about the key left me. Thinking I had made some great overwhelming breakthrough I was pleased that I could go to sleep.
The next morning I turned on my phone and saw the message, “I found your key”. It was from Norma and had been sent about the time I calmed down. Apparently, when I got into the van, the house key was in my left hand and as I put my hand on the seat to steady myself I accidently dropped it into her large purse. It was only that night, as Norma rearranged things from transportation mode to tourist mode that she found the key.
So, yes, the there was no need to worry. All was well. But doesn’t worry seem like the responsible thing and certainly just about the only thing to do? Like a child who is known for leaving behind all types of jackets and thus is seen as irresponsible, doesn’t worry label us a being responsible enough to know that there is a cause for concern?
What have you “lost”, only to find it safe and sound?
Every Day Is a Good Day – VJ