March 30: Go-to Guy, Saint Anthony, Lost and Found

I went shopping at Wal-Mart this afternoon.  Then I drove home, unpacked the groceries, and put my son down for his nap.  After he was asleep, I cleaned the house.  Finally, I sat down to rest a little bit, until I realized my hip pack, containing my wallet and checkbook, was missing.  It wasn't in my car.  It wasn't in the house.

I distinctly remembered putting my groceries in the back of my car at Wal-Mart.  I also distinctly remembered walking my shopping cart to a cart keeper a few parking spaces away, looking down, seeing my hip pack in the cart, and thinking, I better not forget to grab that.  After that, things got a little fuzzy.  Therefore, I made the assumption that I left my hip pack in the cart.

Well, when I lose something, I tend to drive myself a little crazy.  I tore the house apart.  I tore my car apart.  No hip pack.  So, after I picked up my daughter from school, I drove back to Wal-Mart.

I think I've written about Saint Anthony before.  He is the patron saint of lost things.  Basically, if you lose something, you pray to Saint Anthony, and he's supposed to help you find your lost property.  It's a Catholic thing.  Tony is my go-to guy.  He has never let me down.  All the way to Wal-Mart, I was saying prayers to him.  The prayers went sort of like this:  Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme, pleeeeeeease, Saint Anthony.

Well, I  went to the customer service desk when I got to Wal-Mart.  That's where the lost and found department is.  I know this fact because that's where I picked up my hip pack the last time I lost it.  (Yes, I have done this on a couple of occasions.)  My hip pack was sitting on the back counter, in plain view.  I breathed a huge sigh.

Tony is da man, I'm telling you.  He has always answered my prayers.   He's the kind of saint I want to be when I grow up.  Dependable.  All the time.

Saint Marty, on the other hand, would lose his halo if it weren't attached.

Have you seen my halo anywhere?

October 18: I Don't Care, Busy Morning, Lost Keys

I woke up this morning.  That's the best thing that's happened so far.  I woke up.  I give thanks to God for that.  After taking my shower (cut the crap out of my face shaving) and getting dressed (need to lose weight for the pants I'm wearing), I put on my coat and got ready to leave.  Remember, this is all before 5 a.m.  That's when I realized my car keys were missing.  I went berserk.

Let me back up a little bit.  We got home around 8 p.m. last night from the Wisconsin Dells.  Between bathing children, unpacking the car and suitcases, and shuttling young ones off to bed, I somehow misplaced the keys to my automobile.  No real big surprise.  It was insanely hectic.  Remember how I said I had the best daughter in the world yesterday?  I still do, but she can get really whiny after eight or so hours in a car.  And my three-year-old son's tolerance for car travel lasts about as long as an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants.

Well, I went on an all-out key safari for about ten minutes.  I didn't find them.  Then I said a little prayer to Saint Anthony.  For those of my disciples who aren't Catholic, Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost things.  Basically, if you lose something, you're supposed to say a little prayer to Tony, and he's supposed to help you find it.  He's my "go-to" homeboy, if you get my meaning.  He's never let me down.  After saying the prayer, I checked the pockets of my coat again.  Nothing.  Then I felt something odd inside my coat, right next to my chest.  I reached into the lining of my jacket and pulled out my keys.  Like I said, Tony's my homeboy.

I haven't stopped since I found those keys.  I had to drop by Walmart on the way to work to purchase something for today's potluck.  Then, when I got to work after being away for two days, I had to play a little catch-up.  Print out forms and schedules.  Arrange charts.  Figure out what the hell's going on.  Between the time I left on Thursday afternoon and this morning, someone moved the time clock.  Therefore, I had to go on a time clock safari.  I found it on the opposite side of the wall on which it used to hang.

To make a long story even longer, I have this intuition that I'm going to be a little behind all day long.  That's the way it is after a vacation, whether it's two days or two weeks.  And you know what?  I don't care.  I just don't care what happens today.  I'm tired, annoyed, and more than a little grouchy.  It feels like a Monday.

Saint Marty needs to get a new attitude, or somebody's going to end up on the wrong side of a bad limerick.


Repeat after me:  "There was a young saint named Marty..."