I think it cost forty dollars, but that was a purchase completed three years ago so I am not making any promises. Our kids alerted us to a gizmo that you attach to your keys so you stand a chance of finding them when they go AWOL. For the first year of the pandemic we hardly drove anywhere so it wasn't an issue,  but as we have emerged from the stalemate there are days we need to start the ignition. A friend told me that the senior's edition of Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes is Wallet, Glasses, Keys and Phone, and that is the mantra I sing each time I head to the driveway. 

 

We are not like John's aunt, who leaves her keys in the ashtray. She figures her car is so old if anyone is desperate enough to steal it she won't hold it against them. Neither are we like the fancy new cars that rev up from the sound of your voice. Or fingerprint, I am not sure which. Anyway we complained to our kids enough about time wasted hunting through pants, and couch cushions that it seemed prudent to cough up the forty. 

 

Last weekend the arrival of four inches of snow necessitated digging out the car. John leaned into the task. I made no offer to help, us having just one shovel. When he came through the door, dripping and cold, I reached for the keys to head out. But they were not on the hook. They were not in my pocket. I succumbed to the well worn search through laundry baskets, and kitchen counters with no luck. The keys to the other car were hanging cooperatively enough, but the thought of asking John to repeat the ordeal was repugnant. 

 

"How does that tile thing work?" 

 

He looked on his phone and a target began to blink. As we walked around the house the circles grew bigger and smaller, much like the game Hot and Cold when I was little. John and I meandered through the house, trying both floors, all while watching the pulsing target. John remembered that it was also supposed to make noise, and we asked Ben to turn down the volume on his movie. The we heard it, a quiet beep originating from where Benjamin sat. 

 

"Ben, did you take the keys?" 

 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the remembrance came flooding out. They were tucked in his pocket, probably in anticipation of walking to the post office to raid the candy jar on the counter. Or maybe his remarkable inner calendar told him that there are sometimes girls in uniform selling cookies on the last Saturday in January. But the snow cancelled those aspirations.   

 

Anyway the search was successful.

 

As I drove along freshly plowed streets, I thought about other valuable things that go missing. Like my appreciation for people I love. There was a time  when I wrote endearing memories about John, and stuffed them in pockets and drawers. Then when affection was mislaid, I would come across one.

 

"He wrote the song Arise!"

 

"He drove us safely many miles while I slept"

 

"His presentation on the 10 Good Things About Atheism made me cry" 

 

"He supported me through nine births"

 

"He cuts incredible paper snowflakes"

 

I decided it was time to write a few more. 

 

"He dug the car out of four inches of snow"

 

And it didn't even cost forty dollars.