So my car fob went missing a while back, possibly as long ago as our trip to the Berkshires in early February. I checked every pocket. I looked in bowls and baskets. K took down the suitcase from the birthday trip and I checked its every pocket. No luck.

This was such a sustained case of “Where’s My?” that I had a chance to develop a new search trick. Get this, rather than looking in every zippered or unzippered section of every purse you might have used recently, carry all your bags out to the car in a fistful and see if the door unlocks. A short cut!

I regularly use: two hobo dog-walking bags (that I made), a smaller zippered pouch (that my mother-in-law made), a beautiful new voluminous bag that Ginny gave me recently. I occasionally use two other small-ish shoulder bags.

Even if my trick arose out of a pathetic lifelong flaw and will only work with car fobs, I’m very proud of it.

The loss didn’t hamper my style for two reasons. One — I hardy go anyway these days. Two — I could borrow my husband’s. However, given my predilection for losing things, using my husband’s fob came with an unspoken but shared concern that I would eventually misplace it too. Then we’d be out some bucks.

So not ideal.

Anyway, this morning five seconds after I announced with a weary sigh that I didn’t think I was gonna find my fob — ever — I found my fob.

It was in one of my BlueQ zippered pouches. I use these funky little pouches when I travel for things like dental floss, thread nippers, and hair clips. This practice was necessitated years back when I started using a messenger bag that one of the boys left behind, a big roomy thing with no inner divisions (clearly not designed by a woman).

Is she still taking about bags?

It’s a shame you can’t fake the belief that a misplaced item is not coming back. Otherwise, I’d have feigned my fatigue and said it’s gone with breathy resignation five weeks ago!

PS. I’m not wringing my hands over this. It’s kinda funny, really. I am still thinking about a post of Grace’s from 12/28/2014, linked to her most recent post. She talked about her beloved dog, Tay, who recently passed, and how she was a little immune to shaming words, and to praise as well. How healthy is that? I was inspired.

Another harder reflection was to note the date, see my absence from the long line of comments, and to wonder what life-sucking drama was playing out in Salem then. My sister was born on the 27th of December, so chances are I made the effort to see her on that day, but rarely a year went by without her making a stink about being neglected around her birthday. It’s a time of year I’ve historically dreaded even as I tried to prevent her lonely victimhood with generous gifts. I am going to resist the temptation to pull out a journal and see the particulars.