I would like to write a brilliant article on a subject I know well enough to tackle the job. Instead, I’m obsessed with finding my car keys. They were in my jacket pocket. I know that because that’s where I found them when we retrieved the car from the airport parking lot and drove home. So far so good. They were in the ignition, safe and sound. then what?
It was the usual back and forth brining in luggage, hanging up jackets, unpacking, putting tings away, tossing a few items in the laundry basket, setting others aside for dry cleaning, having a bite to eat, and, eventually, going to bed. Not a complicated picture. So what is my usual key practice? I get out of the car, put them in my right pocket, go into the house, dump my cap, wallet, and keys in a lump on the kitchen counter, and get about my business. Are they on the counter, with my wallet or near the cap? No.
People who know me too well, know that when I get distracted by some other task, I sometimes lay things down in unusual but plain sight places. It’s a dog and squirrel thing. Are the keys in any of the usual, unusual places? No. Check the luggage. Check my wife’s purse. Check pockets of all jackets and pants. Check laundry basket. Check dry cleaning basket. Check junk mail in the recycle bin. Conduct CSI worthy exam of car. Do same to other car we did not drive. Begin searching freezer, bathroom drawers, under chair cushions, behind things. The house is not that big. Where could they be? Maybe I should have bought one of those disc things. You know, the one’s advertised as “never lose your car keys again.” The keys to the church, house, and fire station are on that ring. I’d like to find it.
It is said that St. Anthony is the one to turn to. Apparently he has quite a reputation as a finder of lost items. Considering of how lost our current president is, I’m hoping Tony is working overtime helping him find his way, for all of our sakes. I hate to bother him with the trivial problem of my keys. Wouldn’t want him to be distracted and misplace 45. Who knows what could happen if he was left to his own devices.
With that happy thought, it’s time to get back to the search.
Few will care, but apparently St. Anthony had a few moments, and point them out stuck in a corner of a kitchen chair.