For days I’ve been searching for a notebook of mine. I knew exactly where it was at my own house – it was in a bookcase with my journals. But here, in Mum’s house, it was nowhere to be found.
I went up in the loft (for the third time) to hunt around… I found some other things to bring downstairs, but not the notebook. It seemed very strange, as I knew there was no way I would have thrown it out. It wasn’t till I went back down the ladder and pottered about a bit, making tea, that I saw in my mind’s eye where it was now. It wasn’t with the other books; it was in a big silver storage box.
The boxes weren’t out on display and I didn’t often refer to them, but I knew where they were too, having caught a fleeting glimpse of them the other day. So I dug them out of the cupboard and pulled off the lid… ah, there was my biggest stash of old diaries and journals! It had to be in here. Dug a little deeper, and there was the notebook.
I don’t know how that came into my mind. I suppose when I was standing by the kettle, I was feeling annoyed… I focused on the book in my mind’s eye, visualizing it in this location and that one… and the silver box came up.
It might have been my grandmother (maternal, she added pedantically) who said when you’re looking for something, don’t go turning everything upside down… just stay quiet for a bit, and think about it. Then you’ll remember where you put it. It saves a lot of time, fuss and mess.
Sometime it doesn’t happen quite like that, though. A couple of hours ago (already?!) Mum came to me holding a pair of her glasses, and said “where did you find them?” I stared at her with puzzlement. “Were you looking for them? Where did YOU find them? I haven’t been picking up any specs today.”
We stared at each other.
“There’s something weird going on around here,” muttered Mum, and pottered off to have her bath.