May 21, 2008 03:35 pm
—
ON SECOND THOUGHT
By Carol Ferguson
“This one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind.”
— Philippians 3:13
Forgetting is, indeed, one thing I do, which is why lists have become such an important part of my daily life.
The subjects are varied: grocery lists, catalogs of errands to be run and reminders of anything special I need to bring to work in the morning, for example.
A reader might assume that lists keep my life orderly and well-managed, but only if I can find them. The safest, most logical place is in my purse, unless of course I forget my purse which is what happened several weeks ago.
My husband and I had a late afternoon appointment with Dr. Joseph Ronaghan in Greenville for a checkup following Jack’s recent hernia surgery. We each brought along a book to read in the waiting room, but before I had finished even one page we were ushered into an examining room. The post-surgery report was good, and the three of us sat chatting amiably before leaving.
At home later I kicked back and was watching Charles Krauthammer, my favorite TV news commentator, when the phone rang and the recorder took over. The message was from Vicki, the doctor’s wife, telling me she had found my purse on the floor of the examining room we had occupied, and since the office was closing we could pick it up tomorrow morning after 9:30. In my euphoria over Jack’s good report, I had obviously wandered out of the office, clutching our books but leaving the purse behind, a sorry commentary on my priorities.
Because Jack had driven us to the office, I had had no reason to get car keys out of my purse when we left, and if Vicki hadn’t phoned later, the scenario the next morning as I got ready to go to work would have been total panic.
Where is my purse?
Did I leave it in the car?
Is it down in our bedroom?
I have no keys, no billfold.
How can I go grocery shopping without a checkbook and driver’s license?
Good grief, all the ID I have in the world is in that purse, along with our cell phone, my grocery list, credit cards, insurance cards, prescription pills, my errand list and a map of the City of London. OK, I realize that latter item is a weird thing to carry around, but it gives this devoted Anglophile a comforting pleasure.
Apparently what I truly need, however, is a note, preferably pinned to my clothes, reminding me to pick up my purse.
One time I left it in church, underneath the pew in front of us. I had blithely walked out, carrying the weekly bulletin and paying no attention to what had been resting near my feet. Our family was going out to dinner, and not until we pulled up in front of the restaurant, did I suddenly realize what was missing.
My husband quickly drove us back to the church, all the while assuring me that a church was probably one of the safest places to mislay your belongings. Secretly, however, I was recalling an old saying, “A church is not a rest home for saints, but instead, a hospital for sinners.” What sinner had walked off with my purse?
“Oh ye of little faith,” the priest laughingly chided me as I dashed into the nearly empty building and found my purse exactly where I had left it.
I try not to make these stupid mistakes, and thanks to honest churchgoers, as well as kind souls like Vicki and my husband who retrieved my purse and brought it up to the Herald-Banner the next day, I have been rescued from such blunders.
The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche must have had folks like me in mind when he wrote, “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.”
Ferguson is a feature writer for the Herald-Banner.
Copyright © 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.