A couple of weeks ago, I looked for a favourite necklace of old large blue glass trade beads strung either side of an antique silver Arabian amulet. It was an indulgent purchase acquired in Nairobi, where I had just spent a week teaching at the International School
Then last week I hunted high and low for my GPS system before setting off for a few days camping on the beach.
When I got home, irritated by my untidy habits which I deemed responsible, I decided to do a thorough spring clean. I didn't expect to find the GPS system which I am pretty sure was knicked out of my car which I never lock, but I did expect to find the necklace.
Twelve years ago, I was expelled from class after my yoga teacher couldn't find some jewelry in her apartment, the class venue. At first I was devastated, but after a few sleeplesss nights, became enraged by the teacher's certainty that I was the culprit. I wrote her a dramatic note claiming that she had accused, tried and convicted an innocent person who had no recourse to prove her innocence, and that the experience had served to confirm my abhorrence of the death penalty! She eventually found the missing pieces and apologised.
I think I know who took my necklace and it's my turn to feel violated by a stranger that I briefly housed. I am forcing myself to remember that I might be wrong, that I might suddenly open a drawer looking for a hankerchief and see it curled amongst rolled up leg warmers. But somehow life isn't quite that neat.
Not sure what the lesson is here, if there is one. Attachment? Bourgeois pettiness? Naivité? Who knows. You just gotta roll with the punches and move on sometimes.