Wait a minute! I think I've been had here. I gave this decorative fill-a-bowl to my mother for xmas a few years ago, how the heck did it end up back at my house? I swear, the more I stop to consider the origins of the stuff in our lives, the less I can identify the origins thereof.
I occasionally toy with the notion of inanimate objects having secret, mobile lives of their own; it seems to me that sometimes our belongings just take a hike. Go someplace new and start over. I actually put this superstition into practice whenever I can't find something that I know for a fact was *right here just a minute ago*. After unsuccessfully tearing the house apart looking for whichever object has simply vanished on me, I pause, say out loud, "OK, you win, I can't find you. Now please come out, wherever you are." I swear by this: more often than not, the object is found soon after, usually in some fantasticallly obvious place where it never, ever would have escaped finding during the house-tearing-apart search.
My guess is that sometimes our stuff gets tired of being taken for granted and goes walkabout to teach a little lesson...by acknowledging my powerlessness -- the saying out loud part is crucial -- I let the stuff win. So then it comes back and everybody's happy.
Just kidding. Sort of.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment