I’ve found things other people have lost. More grocery lists than I care to remember that made me wonder what they had planned for dinner that week: hamburger peanut butter borax M&MS. I’ve found pennies and quarters and once a $1 bill in the front yard of my parents’ house. I’ve found Christmas cards on the side of the road. In one, the metallic gold filligree was full of grit and there were dusty footprints on the message inside MAY THE JOY OF THE HOLIDAY BE YOURS TO SHARE LOVE, BILL AND RHONDA. Love notes and words written on money and scraps of magazine paper. I found shells and a seahorse at the beach, smooth rocks at the lake, a hunk of twisted glass, a pair of sunglasses.
I’ve found things I’ve lost. The other earring (it was in my overnight bag), a set of linen placemats (my mother thought they were hers and she put them away), my ferret (he was at the neighbor’s house, sleeping in a coil of extension cord in the garage). I’ve found my passport and my pedometer, my perfect pen and my parents’ wedding photo album.
I’ve found new music, that I like gin and tonic, and that the Derby isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve found I like new technology and don’t go anywhere without my iPod. (Husband was right about that one.) I’ve found a house I love. (Husband was right about that, too.)