Thursday, February 5, 2009

A Word on this Blog's Title

I used to say that I have a long history of being a loser. But that got complicated because it always required the use of air quotes as well as a carefully timed pause to indicate I wasn't really calling my self a "loser" as much as a lose-er.

So I don't say that any more.

What I mean, is that I have a long history of a being a leaver (and lose-er) of things. As a child it was mostly accessories - hats, scarves, library cards, keys, books, piano music, magazines, important notes from school and, yes, gloves. I know that many children routinely leave things (there wouldn't be Lost and Found boxes under counters and special tables for items at schools if this weren't a tendency.) But even compared to my peers, I left things in record numbers. I was a connoisseur of the Lost and Found box, the corners worn soft from constant handling, the smell a unique blend of teenage bedroom and grandparent knick knacks. The finding of lost things never filled me with relief as much as it lessened my stress and shame of having left something again.

So why do I think I left so many things behind? While I've devised a few theories on this, I cannot say I have an accurate, clinical explanation. I can say that I was so interested in people around me that I abandoned any semblance of preparing to leave for staying "in the know." I also realize that this says little more than I was nosey and unorganized.

Which is not to say that I think I am now "reformed." It is true that I no longer lost keys or library cards, or ID's or books or work-related documents, but I will frequently get calls from people whose homes I visit informing me of left items - usually earrings, socks, sometimes shoes or coats if the temperature rises by the time I leave. The difference is that I no longer panic. Maybe this is because the items are not urgent or because I am an adult and I feel my things are my things to lose. But the lack of panic is a big deal.

Using the title "Lost Glove Found" is a way to keep me sensitive, I think, grounded, perhaps? Maybe I just feel the need to stay connected to that little nosey kid and the long car ride back to Ferrells in search of a stray glove...

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