finding lost things

So many annoyances resolved. On Sunday, when the kids were here, we wanted to start the gas fire stove but I could not find the remote. The stove doesn't work without it. I searched, increasingly frustrated - where the hell did I put it when I turned off the pilot in May? No idea. I finally called the company that installed it and asked if I could buy a replacement. And then I found it, in a logical place, just tucked a bit further back in the cabinet and thoughtfully wrapped in a plastic bag that made it invisible. 

While I was looking for it, I found a few other things I'd spent ages looking for. Aren't there estimates about how much time we waste over our lifetimes looking for things? 

On Wednesday I went to the Y for a class, and afterward, rushing back for a haircut, I realized I'd left my gold bangle in the locker. This famous bangle is in the memoir. After Edgar asked me to marry him, we went to an antique store on Rue Royale in New Orleans; we couldn't afford a ring so he bought an antique gold bangle. It has GLY engraved inside; I decided it was for Gladys Louise Young. Or maybe God Loves You. I've worn it for 41 years. When I cycled at top speed back to the Y to get it, it wasn't there. 

I thought, It's just a thing. It can be replaced. You have health and hearth; it doesn't matter. But of course, it does. It's a symbol of my marriage, of my love for a man, for what we created together. We've been divorced for 30 years, but the man, and our love for each other and our children, matters deeply. 

I reported it, and today Doris who runs the health club phoned to say she was holding it. A staff member had found it on the floor and put it away for safekeeping. 

It's only a thing. But it is a beautiful thing that's been on my wrist for four decades, I'm happy it's found. I will have a good ride to the Y tomorrow.

Unlike the one I had on Wednesday. Downtown Toronto right now is a hellscape. For the first time, I thought, Can I go on living here? There's construction everywhere, overwhelming noise, huge trucks revving and speeding, jackhammers, cranes, concrete trucks taking over streets and sidewalks. Why do they have the right to squeeze out pedestrians and drivers so developers can get richer? 

And the Y itself is, as one friend said, a ghost town. I went to the class Carole is struggling to bring back to life, once about 30 old friends sweating together. Wednesday there were 5 of us, spread over half the gym, wearing masks, barely able to understand a word she said. I hope the Y, like countless other businesses, recovers from Covid. 

Have watched fabulous documentaries on Helen Keller, Oscar Peterson, and last night on PBS, the universe. Brilliant.

More Hallowe'en in Cabbagetown. I will ignore the event myself. But the 'hood goes mad.