I’m a note taker, but not always an efficient one. I was searching through my desk the other day for some numbers I needed. I knew I put them there, because they were important. I would need to re-visit them later. Well, today was later, and what I found in the drawer were several pieces of paper with cryptic notes scrawled on them, but not one single reference to what, or to whom they pertained.
I found one note that had dates, amounts, and reference numbers, but that was it. Nothing more. What did they refer to? There was even one number circled. Well, that must be important, but why?
The note I was actually looking for was written in the corner of a paper that had two other separate notes on it. One was the result of some research I was doing, one was a combination of letters and numbers that I finally recognized as my daughter’s license plate number, and then there were six numbers, one percentage and an arrow between two of the numbers. Wonder what that means? At first I passed over the paper, thinking it wasn’t what I was looking for, but further search of my desk revealed only two more scribbled notes, and neither of them were relevant. Don’t ask me how I could tell. Just a sixth-sense I suppose! I went back and took a closer look at the only two possible suspects, and found some clues that triggered an elusive black hole memory. Now those numbers began to spin and rearrange themselves to make sense. Yes, this was what I was looking for!
It turns out that more than one of my desk drawers holds mystery notes. They must be important, because I didn’t throw them away. They have become like that other item we all keep, because we need it, but don’t know why….the lone key in the junk drawer, or the dresser drawer, or in the jewelry box, because it is really important, but we’re clueless about what it unlocks.
You can’t throw this stuff out! It’s important! It must be, because we kept it. You know if you do, as soon as Waste Management arrives out front you will suddenly remember why you had it, and now there is nothing you can do to correct your error in judgement. So there it sits, mocking you for your forgetfulness.
We are victims of our own carelessness. Don’t be so smug as to think it’s because I’m “older” that I can’t remember. No matter your age, I dare you to look in that drawer and tell me what that one key, lying there all alone, is for. From here forward I vow to write a few more words of reference on my scribblings, and place single keys in a baggie with a note identifying them.
One day, when I’m feeling very brave, or seeking the thrill of being reckless, I will gather all these random notes, search the drawers for lonely keys, and quickly throw them in the trash, then rush them to the curb before I regain my sense of rationale, or is that terror, and retrieve them all. Who am I’m kidding, that’s crazy!
Several weeks ago we received a phone call from our son-in-law. He wanted to go camping, and he wanted us to go with him. Once upon a time we would have been the ones making that request, but older joints, some artificial, have made sleeping on the ground less than inviting, unless you consider getting off the ground an exciting game of chance. And then there’s that having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night thing, which necessitates getting off the ground more than once, and venturing outside, if you consider a flimsy piece of nylon standing between me and nature, being inside. But, being the kind of in-laws, parents, and grandparents that we are, and having once had camping in our blood, we said “yes”, with a few caveats.
