The Universe Speaks

My purse was stolen tonight. It was ancient but beloved, dilapidated but functional, and I'd been debating whether to try to find a new one or ask the shoe repair guy to replace the zipper and stitch the hole in the front section one more time. But now the Universe has spoken, and I must find a new purse.

I am very particular about the organization of the object I carry everywhere and use as a file cabinet, lunch box, and communication center. I hate rummaging in an undivided space, and am happiest when there is a compartment for everything. Not easy to find in this era of glitzy "hobo bags" that are as large as airplane carry-on bags. For now, I'll make do with my travel purse, my back-up credit card, and a printed appointment confirmation for my Department of Motor Vehicles appointment (in case I make the unexpected acquaintance of the local constabulary under unfortunate circumstances.)

Worse than contemplating carrying a less-than-perfect purse is the feeling of being incommunicado. My iPhone and Daytimer with everyone's phone numbers, addresses, and some gmails, are gone. If someone isn't in my gmail contact list or on my home phone, I may have lost them for all eternity. Sad. I like my contact people (almost as much as I like my purse.)

I spent the last three hours talking to my bank, credit card company, the police, getting my ancient flip phone charged up, and leaving a message with the locksmith to get my home locks changed. (Yes, I had duplicates of house and car keys in my purse. I've had occasion to feel smugly intelligent about that when I misplaced said keys. I'm not feeling so smart about it now.) Maybe tomorrow I'll have enough energy to set in motion the arduous process of replacing insurance, Costco, and AAA cards--and a bunch of others I can't even think about now.

Have you ever noticed that the number to call for a lost credit or debit card is on the back of the card, not on the bill? I hope you don't have to find out the way I did. One more telephone tree, and I was going to have to have to have a temper tantrum.

But life goes on and I must plod forward, if ever so slowly. Good-bye, battered old leather purse! We had some good times and some truly weird ones. I suspect you'll wind up in a dumpster somewhere with everything still inside you except the cash. So sorry. You deserved better!