...nothing here is promised, not one day... Lin-Manuel Miranda

I Heart Seattle
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This afternoon things went horribly wrong when somewhere between the photocopying joint and the library, my little bag disappeared. The little bag which holds all the bumph of life; wallet, credit cards, ID, checkbook, breath mints, bus pass, pens, insurance cards, lip gloss. Poof.

I'm impatient and times and I know I toss stuff when I should put it somewhere snugly, but good grief it was only a few blocks and I know I put it in my big canvas hold-everything bag.

Got to the library, sat down, got out the stuff I needed to do the stuff I needed and hmmmm…oh, well, no biggie, no wait, hmmmm….okay, well so I left it at the copying place I'll get it.

Yeah yeah, you're SO far ahead of me. Teresa at the copying place didn't have it. I then did the 3 blocks between the 2 locations slowly, eyes peeled, back into the library, begging them to tell me yes, someone had turned in the bag…something like four trips up and down the sidewalk and I headed for home. One of two things was going to happen: I was going to spend the next 72 hours miserably tracking every piece of crap I had in the wallet and trying to replace it, keeping in mind that it would require several trips on buses and such for photo IDs - from the Motor Vehicle folks and the Metro bus folks and Social Security and oh, shit, the library and the bank and the credit card people and that I am flying out of town in 3 weeks OR I'd get home to a message on the machine from Sally the Special Angel of Finding Guatemalan Bags Full of Stuff.

At least I didn't put my key ring, with the fuzzy hamster and the house key in the bag, which I do on rare occasions but no, it was in a pocket. So I drive the hiccuping scooter home (it's hiccuping because it needed to be charged AND it's dying so even when it's CHARGED, it's not happy) and drag to the front door and kick the book (sorry, book!) and the box (sorry box) away from the door and try to decide whether crossing one's fingers is really too childish for words. And yes, there IS a message on the machine and yes, it's Sally the Finding Stuff Fairy, in the person of Christine at the Antique Lighting Company, which, yes indeed is on the avenue between the Library and the copying place. And yes, yes yes, one of her customers found my bag on the sidewalk and they looked at my checkbook to get my number and nothing else and it's there. And I have to look them up in the phone book cuz she didn't leave her number but I thought (wrongly) there were stairs into the shop but no there weren't.

The Antique Lighting Company on Greenwood Avenue is one of my sources of snarky amusement for having The Ugliest Lamps I have EVER seen in my life. And they have a little sandwich sign on the sidewalk that says that parking for "ALC Clients" is available. Not customers, mind you, clients. Clients who buy horrid reproductions of Tiffany style table lamps that are so heavy and clunky and shed no light and chandeliers that I'd just DIE before I'd let one in my door and it's now my favorite company in the whole wide world.

Several years ago, a friend was visiting Seattle and we were in the University District and inside the bookstore, Anne suddenly realized that her jacket, which she'd sort of tucked under her arm, had disappeared. "Let's go find it," I said and she looked at me as if I'd suddenly snagged a fly with my tongue. "It's gone", she said. I shrugged and said, "no, no, let's go retrace our steps." And half a block away, there was Anne's jacket still lying on the sidewalk. The only thing that surprised me was that in the few minutes since she'd dropped the jacket, no one had picked it up, smoothed out the creases and draped it on something to make it more visible.

NOT that things don't get stolen in Seattle and not that people aren't venal and bad and often mean and greedy. I mean I had less than $20 in the wallet but more than normal in the checking account because I'm about to pay for the new scooter, and I'm thinking "oh, please, have a heart, and notice that there's a pass in the bag for a low-income person and notice that those aren't Cross pens but cheap plastic giveaways and um…." But in the end it didn't matter at all. Someone found the bag and did what you do. Did the right thing. And if it weren't so late in the season and I'd had flowers I would have cut a huge bunch and brought them to Christine at the store but I didn't and I didn't want to overdo it by going and buying some flowers - besides, um, I couldn't I didn't have my wallet. So I caught my breath, swigged some water, headed back to the garage, grabbed the wheezing scooter (which was glowering at me and pouting saying "you promised me LUNCH, dammit!") and went and got The Bag with all my stuff in it. And I only sobbed a little bit, after hearing the answering machine message and only choked up a teensy bit after telling Chrstine my name on the phone and thanking her.

And I apologize again to the book I kicked cuz it's the new Margaret Maron and I didn't mean to kick it but I had to get in the house FAST and I actually kicked the package it was in. And I'm going to light a candle to Saint Sally the Very Special Angel.

Anyone want to buy a really ugly lamp? I know this fanTAStic store…

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