Some Battery Is Low

Over the weekend, my cell phone died.  I knew it was going to happen, because the battery icon was blinking at me all day.

I'm not a huge cell phone user, but I do get an occasional call or text.  I felt sad and lonely with my cell phone dying.  Can you relate?

I looked through my lunch bag to find my charger, because I sometimes take it to work with me--when I think it is going to die on a work day.  It wasn't there.  I looked through my other lunch bag.  (I take my breakfast with me to work, too.)  Getting concerned, I looked through my projects bag.  Sometimes, I've stuck my charger in there.

I came up empty, struck out all three times.

I searched through my purse--even taking everything out of it and looking thoroughly.  (And then putting only two-thirds of what I'd taken out back and throwing the rest away.)

So, my phone died.

I consoled myself by telling myself that my charger must be at work--in one of the drawers that I put those bags in.

I tried to put it out of my mind.

But I had a party to go to, and I like to have my cell phone handy when I am away from home, in case one of the kids needs me.  To further complicate matters, my usual baby-sitter was unavailable, and a kid less used to tending was tending, increasing my anxiety over not having my phone in good order.

Said kid actually called me three times, but my phone kept dying on him, so I had to call back on my cousin's land line.  (Finding it was a bit tricky.  His house is immaculate, but the old phone with a cord wasn't in the same place it was thirty years ago.  Funny, that.  Sigh.  I'm old.)

Several times after the phone finally completely died, I thought about my charger wistfully.  Which drawer would it be in?  (When I was thinking positively.)  Did it fall out of my bag somewhere, and is it lost forever?  (When I was thinking negatively.)  Should I call my son and ask him where I could get a new one?

I thought these things so often and with enough melancholy that it took me back mentally to the time when my wedding rings were lost.  They were lost for so long that I had two dreams that they had been found.  Joyfully, I held them in my hand, remembering their exact weight and feel, before sliding them onto my naked finger.

Then, I woke up, and the rings were still lost.  Dreams like that are so ouchy.

I know a charger does not compare to a wedding ring, but I don't like my things to be lost.  And I cannot stand the thought that they are lost forever and I will never see them again.  Not to mention the inconvenience.

My rings were found in a miraculous way, shortly after the death of my mother.  My house had been searched several times.  Wastebaskets had been gone through.  Drawers had been dumped.  All I could remember about the night I had lost them after work was that I had put them down somewhere not very safe--a table or buffet, not their usual place--and told myself to put them down somewhere better.

Oh, they'll turn up, I thought, too carelessly, ignoring the warning.

I didn't see them again for over two months.

Where could they be? I often wondered.  And, rings are so small--they could be anywhere.  It was a hopeless feeling.

When my rings disappeared, I had a one-and-a-half-year-old who loved to imitate me sweeping the floor.  And throwing things into the wastebaskets, of course.  I had looked through all the wastebaskets at the time, but the darkest thought haunting me was that my precious rings were in a landfill somewhere.

Two months and two dreams later, I had finally given up and ordered them remade through my insurance.  That was a sad decision, but better than going ringless the rest of my life.

I had just received the approval letter from the insurance company in the mail when I went to my bedroom and rummaged through my most-used drawer to see if maybe I had some change in there for the swimming pool locker for my son's birthday party.

I saw some rings and wondered whose they could be.  We had been talking a lot about rings in my family as we prepared to divide up my mother's belongings.  Did I mention she had just died, days before?  My siblings and I had discussed her wedding rings, and a ruby ring my grandmother had owned which had come into her possession.  But, whose were these?

Then, I SCREAMED!  I mean I really SSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMED!

They were my rings.  My very own rings!  In my very own drawer!  That I get into every single day!  That I had searched, looking for my rings, at least four times! Even though I knew I had not left them there, because I would not have thought that they would not be safe in there, and that was the only coherent memory I had about the day I lost my rings!  Because that's what you do when something is lost!  You look in places you know it will not be!  Just in case!

I had not left them there.  I had not found them there during my four searches.  But, they were there.  My rings.

I don't know how Mom pulled it off, but I'm grateful to her.

So.

Monday morning came, and I went to work, really looking forward to finding my charger in one of my drawers.

I looked in the drawer I was sure it would be in.  It wasn't there.  I looked in another drawer.  Not there.  I looked in the first drawer again.  Not there.  A third drawer.  Not there.  I looked on my desk.  Under it.

I sat down, defeated.

Had it fallen out of one of my bags and gotten lost forever?  Should I call my son and find out how to replace it?

I got busy with my work and came home at the end of the day.

This was a good four days after I realized that my battery was going to die and I would need to locate my charger.

Four.  Days.

I went to the place at home where I keep my cell phone charger and pulled it out of the container.

Then plugged in my phone.  My phone took a big sigh of relief, like a fish that has finally been put back into the water.

I went into the kitchen.  "Never mind about the charger," I said to my husband.  "I found it."  Like it was no big deal at all.

"Where was it?" he asked.

"Where I keep it."

Yeah.  No miracle this time, I'm sure.  Just stupidity.