Kathy and I had a maddening yet comical moment this weekend as we were working outside checking some light bulbs on our outside fixtures. (Nothing says “zany” like changing light bulbs.) As we got to our pole light in the middle of our front yard (is that what you call it?) I was industriously endeavoring to take the top apart by trying to unscrew the very top piece – which isn’t a screw at all, just a decorative curly-cue thing-a-ma-bob. Kathy quickly intervened, pointing out the two tiny screws that are on either side which hold the top in place. Those are what had to be loosened and removed in order for the top of the lamp to be lifted off, exposing the bulbs. And then she said “I’ll do it” – adding a word about how important it was not to drop them – and not thirty seconds later, something happened and one of these two small screws went tumbling out of her hand and on the ground beneath us – which was actually the mulch bed of our landscaping. And there we stood, right above where we knew this little screw had to be. And we started looking and looking and looking and looking- Kathy saw it fall from her hand, so she had a pretty good idea of almost exactly where it fell- but after 2, 3, 4, 5 minutes of careful search, we realized that this screw was gone for good. I am no stranger to losing things- I’ve elevated it to something of an art form by now- but this was incredibly strange and frustrating. We knew this elusive little screw had to be somewhere right beneath us, and we took turns getting down on our haunches to look as carefully and methodically as possible- but the little bugger was gone.
For me, it was a potent reminder of something that happened to my dad many years ago when we were vacationing along the Missouri River. At the moment of this incident, we weren’t swimming so much as wading in the shallow waters. . . . and my dad was maybe reaching for a shell or something when his wedding ring slipped right off of his finger and on to the river bottom right below him. And as he instinctively grabbed for it, the water was instantly blackened because the river bottom there was not clean, granular sand but something darker and finer. And when his hands went into the silt, it was like a giant squid had squirted ink into the water . . . and in that awful instant, dad knew that his wedding ring, which he knew was directly beneath him, was gone for good. It makes me relieved that my wedding ring has literally never left my hand – not for a second. For a long time, I couldn’t have removed it if I’d wanted to – but with my weight loss, I know the ring would easily come off if I wanted. But it’s staying on that finger if I can possibly help it. As one who has lost wallets, cell phones, calendars and much more over the years, I am well acquainted with the sick pit-in-the-stomach feeling you get when something important is lost and apparently lost for good. I would really like to keep my wedding ring off of that infamous list.
pictured: this is the one screw we still had – and the photo gives you a good view of how small and colorless the screw is that we were looking for . . . and against the backdrop of that grayish mulch, we didn’t stand a chance.