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Archive for November, 2012

Image             Hmmmm… Cranberries, sour cream, pie crust, cider….  It’s beginning to look a lot like the holidays.  Is that whipping cream I see in the back?  Yes, please.

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I hate to fumble around for my keys.  Therefore I always put them in the same place:  my pocket if I am outside my front door, or the front, easily accessible, zipper pocket of my purse if I have no pockets, or on the corner of the table with my bag if I’m at home.

So Thursday morning I took a little extra time in the morning because I have spent all my waking hours at the opera for more than a couple of weeks and I deserve it.  I slept in as much as the cats would allow and after checking emails and the like I gathered up what I needed for the day.  My kitchen trash can was full, plus I needed to toss the box my cute little birthday cake came in.

It was shaped like a tiny hat with a wee little flowers on top and it was delicious.  Hand delivered to the stage door before dress rehearsal on my birthday.  Thank you Diana and Laury.  No picture because, well, I ate it before it occurred to me to take one.

I picked up my purse, the canvas bag with my lunch and other essentials, the bag of trash, my car key with its little black clicker, the large bundle of other keys, and the cake box.  I tried to fold up the cake box but it kept sliding apart and trying to slither out of my hands.  I grabbed it tighter and forced it into a folded shape while it tried desperately to escape.  I just managed to lock my front door without losing my grip on anything.

Once outside I headed down the leaf covered steps, past the maintenance guy sweeping the steps, down the sidewalk to the trash bins.  Here I ran into a bit of a snag as I attempted to raise the lid of the trash bin while holding 2 bags and keys in one hand and the trash bag and cake box in the other.  Even when one is only dealing with a trash bag there’s something about the size and placement of the bin that makes opening it with one hand difficult.  I put my keys in my coat pocket and set down my bags.  After some fumbling, I finally got the lid open enough to shove my trash in.  The cake box sprung back to it’s original shape and flew out of my hands. I reached in my pocket for my car keys and the other keys were there but not the car keys. !@#$

This cannot be, I tell myself.  I never lose my keys.  Plus I only have one key for my car, no backup, no copies.  I check my jeans pockets.  I check the outer pocket of my purse.  I look around on the ground.  No tell-tale black clicker anywhere.  I check all my pockets again.  They have to be here.

I retrace my steps.  I ask the guy sweeping to watch for them, thinking they may have dropped into the leaves or fallen out of my shallow coat pocket on the way to the trash.  I go back inside my apartment.  I check my purse thoroughly.  I check the table again.  I look around the front door where I set down the trash bag while I opened the door.

Could they have slid out of my hands and into the trash bin?  !@#$  I have to check.

I check the front steps again.  My eyes scour the sidewalk and the area around the bins.  Please let them be here, please don’t make me do this.

I open the bin.  There’s my bag of trash and the cake box plus some fast food trash and a few other repulsive looking odds and ends.  I pick my bag out and set it aside.  I can’t quite reach the other stuff.  I tip the can toward me, the edge  is greasy.  I have to lean in but I find I can use the cake box to push the other bits around.  I get to the bottom.  No keys.  I feel slimed.

Trash bag returned to bin, I check the surrounding area again.  I peer over the edge of the steps.  Maybe they were swept over the edge onto the lawn.  Not.

Back in my house, I am icky and must wash.

Then I check my pockets again.  I check everywhere in the house they could possibly be.  Even places I didn’t go near that morning.

I am forced to conclude that they slid into my trash bag.  More ick.

On my way back out I look thru the leaves, around the mailboxes and the trash bins, and I check my pockets, again.

I pull my bag of trash out of the bin.  I tip the can toward me and lean in, up to my waist, again.  Decide if I must do this again, I will bring a broom or some other long object with me so I can sift thru the slime without having to crawl into the can.  Still no keys.

I take the trash back to my apartment where I can sift it into another garbage bag without putting my neighbors on alert.

911?  There’s this  weird crazy woman  who looks like she’s playing in the trash 

After washing up, again, I am not ready to dig around in yet more trash.  I dump my purse out on the sofa and check all the pockets inside.  Nope.  I dump out my tote bag.  Lunch, water, umbrella, no keys.  I dig into the outside pockets of the tote bag.

Eureka!

I spent my morning dumpster diving for my keys, twice and they were some where clean, dry and slime free all along.

The saddest, funniest thing I did all day.  Maybe ever.

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