Lost and Found

A few days ago, a friend said to me, “You look thin. Have you lost weight?”

“I have no idea,” I responded. “I can’t find my scale.”

The bathroom scale is one of the things my husband and I have lost in the move. I remember packing it. I think I shoved it in a box between some blankets or rugs. So I believe it is somewhere in our new home, but I have no idea where.

What else have we lost?

A vacuum cleaner. We own a little blue rolling vac, which is lightweight and has lots of helpful attachments. It has been my favorite to use (if I have to use a vacuum). It, too, has disappeared.

I also broke the belt on an upright vacuum cleaning out the old house. But I know where that one is—it’s in the garage, waiting to be given away. It is probably repairable, but I don’t like it, so this is a good opportunity to buy a new one better suited to the hardwood floors in most of our new house.

Two radios. Actually, three—one clock radio was screwed into a kitchen cabinet in the old house, so we left it. But I can’t find the little Bose CD/radio/clock combo unit. I’d planned to put it in our new kitchen to replace the radio left behind. And the old radio my husband had in our bathroom has not appeared either. I think it’s with the scale.

We lost a platter. The movers did an excellent job packing and moving us, but they weren’t perfect. They broke a large platter I only used once every few years when I had to serve a turkey. It wasn’t expensive, and I don’t really mind losing it, because after I bought this one, I was given a much prettier platter that I prefer.

I probably should have given the cheap one away during the decluttering phase of our move. (Which, I’ve discovered, is not a phase, but an ongoing way of life, now that I actually have to find places to put things in the new house.)

Then there are the more important things I’ve lost. My magnolia tree. A well-developed neighborhood with streets lined with ash and oak trees. The patterns of everyday living, such as where I sat to write in my journal in the mornings, which cupboards held which dishes, the ability to call out to my husband in his office across the hall.

Now, I have to search twice for every plate and glass, though the search is getting quicker each day.

And my office is downstairs, while my husband’s is on the main level. The separation helps me concentrate, but it will change our daily interactions. We have to go find each other to talk, or use our phones as an intercom.

But there are things I have found in the midst of losses. I’ve lost the grocery store where I could find everything easily and shop quickly. But I’ve found a new store with a much better meat department. We enjoyed fresh salmon marinated in a mango sauce the other night—something the old supermarket never offered.

I’ve lost the parish where I worshiped for thirty-five years. Oh, I could keep going there, but I know in the wintertime I won’t want to drive so far, and I don’t want to have a foot in two communities. And I’ve found a vibrant new church where I feel at home (and I’m even starting to recognize some faces).

I’ve lost my magnolia tree, but I’ve found a beautiful view that offers me wide spans of sky. As a Westerner, I relish open skies, particularly at sunset. From my new screened porch, I watch the sun rise and I watch it set. I’ve seen red-tailed hawks and buzzards and killdeer—so many of the little shorebirds that my husband has taken to calling our home “Plover House.” I’ve seen frogs (or maybe they’re toads) and deer. Something different every day.

The view of the open skies may seem the same each day, but it offers surprises morning, noon, and night.

As the French say, “Plus ҫa change, plus c’est la même chose.” Which means, “The more things change, the more they remain the same.”

Or, as I’m interpreting it today, the more we lose, the more we find.

What have you lost or found recently?