Lost Treasure

While out for a reading and running errands Saturday, I saw a big blue box where people deposit clothes and shoes for people who need them.

“Just the thing!” I thought with relief, and popped my new camel coat with the hood , tags still on, into the bin. Well, yes, there’s a story there.

Now, I don’t mean to brag about my great generosity. I would probably have given the coat to someone I knew if I thought it would fit them. But that was exactly the problem, you see. I wasn’t sure exactly who would find it the perfect fit.

I had fallen prey to optimism again, one of my favorite afflictions. I bought a coat online. By all descriptions, it seemed like it should have fit. I loved the camel color, just what I was looking for, and the hood was a real plus. It shipped so quickly, too, all the way from the United Kingdom. But it didn’t fit.

All that and it didn’t fit. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say the ship of state has a notable prow and the coat was inches away from buttoning, no matter how enormous the size tag said the thing was. In fact, I had been concerned at first it would be too big, since the company had sent one size larger than I had ordered. I think perhaps they knew something though. All I can say further is that if worn it would have provided a notable gap in coverage.

With much of the country in the grip of worst-ever cold weather and so many sad and amusing photos of pizza shops suddenly converted to drive-in restaurants by uncooperative vehicles and all, I decided I wanted a decent coat. I haven’t had one since I left Illinois and that was a very long time ago.

Just before tossing it into the bin, I checked the pockets for treasures. It’s a habit. I put things in pockets and leave them there. These were at least still sewn together, still factory fresh in its never-worn condition.

I’ve been concerned that I’ve lost some things by leaving things in pockets. I can’t be sure, you see, because if they are never found, you never know where you put them. Right? That’s some law of the universe, like socks missing from the laundry. But knowing my habit, having found enough important things stuffed in my pockets in the past, I check pockets for cash, important papers, driver’s license, credit cards, jewelry, keys, electronic gizmos. Someday I expect toads or something like a naughty child’s pockets betraying the fun of the day.

When I found that the coat didn’t fit, I did look up the information to get a refund. The seller does have a refund policy but requires that the less-than-satisfied buyer return the coat through shipping with tracking. This is inexpensive and easy when the item is purchased in my own country, but annoyingly, international shipping with tracking costs a king’s, or at least a princess’ ransom. Calculating that the cost of the return shipping with tracking would easily approach the cost of the coat, I decided it was not worth the trouble to return it with a net gain of … well, not enough to buy a pizza. People here need coats. Give it to someone who needs it. They merely have to figure out the annoyance of ignoring the size number on the tag.

I bought a new camel wool coat, no hood, alas, but nice quality from a company in my country so just in case I suffered the same fate of misplaced optimism I could at least return the thing. Coat 2 fits, just scrumptious, thank you, and as I had hoped the “mid-calf” estimate of its length, true for most mortals, is the desired ankle-length on my Hobbit-like frame. When the red gloves I ordered came in, of course I stuffed them in the pockets of the coat. I am, after all, true to pattern. I expect I’ll find the gloves there when I need them.

Online shopping has its downfalls, but for the most part I like it, except for purchasing books. So while nosing through lists of things for sale that I hardly intend to purchase I found myself in the jewelry section. I remembered I am looking for two items that have been mislaid.

One has been missing since 1998. I know this because that was the time that I cleaned out the closet in that bedroom in the rental house I was moving out of in preparation to move to my current house. I had taken that opportunity to cull some items from my wardrobe and taken them to a women’s shelter, then discovered that a pin I had had made from other jewelry was gone. I had checked pockets! I had! I had checked lapels too. Had I checked underneath a lapel? Would I have pinned a pin underneath a lapel to hide it? I might have. And is it gone? Or, did it fall into a box of doll furniture? I miss it terribly.

And the other piece, a gift from a friend far away, a lovely pendant that was a very special present. It’s here. Somwhere.

Where the heck are they??

What’s a card reader to do? Pull a card, of course. So I did. 7 of Wands.

Hmm, I thought, at least this means there is some hope of finding them because the 7 of Wands is a card of success after all. The kind of success it means is peculiar to it. I would say when I find them, optimist that I am but also reading the card, I shall find them one at a time, perhaps stumbling across them while I’m doing something else. My success will be with effort and I will not necessarily be well-prepared for the task. This should be no surprise to me as I am seldom prepared for anything in the realm of housework. Last, while 7’s have a somewhat magical quality about them, I reflect how wands are fire and specifically wood. Perhaps, in the bottom of some treasure box with other goodies, in a drawer in a dresser, in a box of…hmm, furniture for dolls… perhaps. Best to clean out my dresser drawers anyway to get rid of clothes I no longer wear, mismatched socks and all that. And perhaps, I’ll find them.

Best wishes!

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Looking for a friendly Lenormand class in San Francisco? Coming soon Feb. 22, 2014!

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