Don’t think that the grandkids left behind a string of broken items and a wrecked house to put me in this state. I’m the one that created the situation in which I now find myself: the deep doodoo place.
Normal grandmothers would, by now, have the guest rooms all fresh and clean and cookies baked for the next visit. Instead, this grandmother is spending my days searching for things I put away for “safekeeping” during the grandkids’ recent Thanksgiving visit.
Although I vaguely remember putting my laptop cord someplace out of sight, I assumed it would surface before I needed it. When the power level on my laptop dropped to 7%, I put Plan B into operation: I got really serious about trying to remember where I’d stuck it to keep it out of little Granddaughter’s reach.
Stupid of me to hide it in the first place. What could she do to a power cord as long as she didn’t flush it?
I began an intensive search of all the possible places I might have stashed it. At this point I can safely say that it isn’t in a closet or a drawer. It isn’t hidden behind the toilet paper stash in the bathrooms or the sheets in the linen closet. It isn’t under the bed, the sofas, or anything else with a skirt.
I’m beginning to wonder if I flushed it myself.
While I was looking for the cord, I was also hoping to come upon a couple of Christmas presents I’d hidden before the family arrived. Those gifts are not in any of the above places either. One of them is a gift for our Atlanta daughter who was here. This is the first time I can remember that she didn’t “happen to come upon” her obscurely hidden gift. When it comes to discovering presents, the girl has some bloodhound in her.
The first of the week, I dejectedly trudged into the Apple Store to buy a new power adapter for my laptop. That sucker was $80!!! The person who assisted me said that if I found mine within two weeks, I could return this one (even used) and get a full refund. I’m down to 11 days now and I still don’t have a clue. I’m thinking of asking my daughter to come back for a quick visit. If I dropped a hint that her Christmas gift might be very near something that smells like a power cord, who knows?
It used to be that my super-organized spouse would shake his head at my disorganization, but now, he is completely sympathetic. Having hit the age when chronic CRS screws around with our brains and our attention span, he understands. Bob Dylan is right: the times, they are a-changing.
Just yesterday, my Dearly Beloved consoled me by confessing that he poured himself a cup of coffee and almost put the coffee pot in the refrigerator. The only thing that stopped him, he said, was that the fridge was so full of leftovers, he couldn’t find room for it.
I’d better check there for the cord.