I'M GETTING PRETTY GOOD AT THIS LOST and found thing!
Or, I should say, I'm really rockin' at keeping the "found"s neck-to-neck with the "lost''s.
(Hmm...won't it be exciting--[you know you'll be the first to hear it, Reader Dear!]--if the "found"s pull into the lead!)
So I'll give you the picture (if I can): This afternoon we were off to the concert in the park, my Yard Man and I. We went early and took a picnic supper for the Little Actor and some of his groupies. (Alas, no pictures of that; yes, I had my camera, but neglected to use it). Little Actor had to go home to bed; but then, friends showed up and helped us eat the leftovers (Sorry, no pictures of that, either; still had my camera, but failed to use it.) It was another frabjous summer evening! Another great concert! (Sorry, no pictures of that...
You know, Dear Reader, there's an old adage: "USE it or LOSE it." How the fluky fortune was I to know this pertains to CAMERAS?!
I sat and gabbed non-stop with my friend (the female of the party who joined The Yard Man and me. I'm sure the males had a conversation, but I'm certain they did not gab.) I barely bothered to bask in the bluesy sounds of the band, so intense was our babbling. And before you know it, folks were applauding the encore. Heading home.
That's exactly what The Yard Man and I did; we called it an evening, exclaiming once again about the beauty of these summer evening concerts. At home, we carried the picnic paraphernalia into the house--and that's when I missed my camera. My camera!
Alas, I knew the very spot I'd left it--right there atop the T.P. dispenser in the ladies' restroom!
"Ha," offered my Yard Man, "that's the last you'll see of that camera!" But, hmmm. I pondered his statement and decided I'd have to put it to the test.
It was nine forty-five. I hopped in the car and drove the ten miles back to the park, hoping there'd still be a few people lingering there. Hoping the restrooms would still be lit up. Hoping against hope my camera'd still be right there, keeping a lens on the T.P. dispenser.
I drove through the dark park, winding my way to the location of the restrooms. A few other vehicles were still roaming the grounds, a very scarce scattering of people. The restroom was still lit. But......no camera!
I saw there was still activity at the stage; it was still lit up. As fast as I could, I got myself across the dark, grassy expanse of lawn and up to the two men loading a truck. "Are you part of the band?" I asked.
"Sound system!" was the terse reply.
"Do you know, is there anyone here from the park?" I asked.
"Uh," the fellow craned his neck. "I think Betty's still here. Yeah, over there in the green shirt."
I made my way around the loading area and over to the edge of the stage, and Betty was there to greet me.
"What are ya' looking for?" she asked, her hand moving toward the pocket of her shorts.
(I can't tell you how it boosted my fragile optimism when I saw that hand hovering over that pocket!)
"I left my camera in the restroom." I replied. "I didn't know if you have a 'lost and found' anywhere or..."
"What kind of camera?" She was now reaching into her pocket, but paused while I searched my brain, and then told her what brand of camera. Upon hearing it, she pulled forth my lovely little Lumix (absence makes the heart grow fonder, they also say), and passed it over to me. "Someone turned it in!" she said.
"Thank you! Wow, how nice," I exclaimed. "My husband told me I'd never see it again!"
"Well," she said. "If you think that's something, last week when we had that really huge crowd, a man lost his hearing aid, and he found it again! Isn't that amazing?"
Having been in that great huge crowd, I did agree!
And now then, with my lovely little Lumix in hand, I can give you, Reader Dear, the picture:
Of this sight I discovered as I was leaving the nearly-deserted park.
A single (older) couple was dancing in one of the empty pavilions, to music
they carried with them.
It was so pleasing to me that I've decided to count it as a second
Causing the "found"s to pull into the lead!
(Didn't I tell you, you'd be the first to