On lost keys
and skinny dogs
I’ve got a thinning, old dog curled up on a pile of blankets on a bean bag chair filled with ancient stuffed animals.
Things are finally as they should be.
For a while though?
For a while dear reader, I was in distress.
Though I wanted to be right here, sitting, enjoying the presence of my doggy, who’s not long of this world.
Instead?
I lost my keys.
I did the dance, walked the route of finding my keys.
You know that dance.
I went through all of the places I was and then where I went from there. I went to the shed to get my Apple Pencil. I I opened the shed, got my pencil then left and locking the door.
My keys were involved in the process of both locking and unlocking the shed.
I had my keys recently. I knew they existed.
They had to be somewhere.
And yet?
And yet that somewhere, dear reader, was nowhere that I could imagine more experience.
I checked the shelves, the drawers and the hooks.
I checked my pockets so many times it looked like I’d invented some sort of new group dance like the Macarena
My poor old dog could be dead tomorrow and here I am dancing the Macarena in a hunt for my keys.
Had I indeed lost my keys?
I had!
How could this be possible?
It couldn’t!
I was therefore, at that moment of my existence that was indeed an impossibility!
How perfect!
My keys had to be somewhere but were no where and could have been anywhere so may as well have been everywhere as far as I was concerned.
But that’s life these days.
We’re running around looking for keys, convinced they are in ‘the usual places’ and for them not to be there, it’s impossible?
You’ll find the keys.
They must exist somewhere.
Impossible?
Absurd.
Absurd?
Fun.
As for my keys?
I don’t remember putting them there.
But I found them hanging on a hook under a helmet.
Exactly where I had left them a mere three minutes prior to losing them.
Every crisis is a set of lost keys.
And then?
Then there’s this moment, right now as I write to you, dear reader, while sitting beside a wonderful dog.