I am not hiding my errors in this post; I am noting them as teachers in high school did.

I was up in the attic rearranging stuff so more stuff could come up. A noble endeavor, I know. And then I heard ‘Moonlight Sonata Serenade coming out of a box; that tune is my ringtone. I knew my phone had fallen from my belt, but I clutched at my waist (speaking without a nod to truth) and yes, it was gone. And the tune was no longer playing.

“Hey!” That’s what I yelled down the attic stairs. “Hey, call my cell phone.” Someone did and I found it and then I called the missing call person back. It turned out to be Key Bank and I blurted out how thankful I was he had called, that otherwise I would have been looking for my phone in the usual places and then (would have) remembered . . . oh no, the attic.

A couple of hours later I was raking up some stuff (You use the word stuff too much.) after we had thrown a lot in the dumpster and it occurred to me to check for my phone. It was gone again. This is when you breathe calmly because it is really, really necessary. I got the house phone and called my number. I listened from the attic ladder; I listened in the upstairs lobby: I listened on the stairs; I listened in the kitchen and then in the vestibule; I listened in the driveway . . . and then I listened at the dumpster . . . twice. Alison said, “Maybe hit it hit something it and it is turned off.” Oh, great. Dumpster diving for a little quiet phone.

However, I remembered I had walked into the backyard, so I did so again, dialed and listened and heard nothing. I dialed again as I approached the corner of the garage and, yes, I heard Moonlight Sonata Serenade. I didn’t have to work hard at breathing calmly anymore.

I guess I am going to have to rig up something that will circle my belt so the case can’t slip off, especially now that summer is coming up. Let’s see, I’m mowing and I realize my phone is gone and then something shoots out of the blades. I wouldn’t breathe calmly then. I think I would swear.

After the sleeper sofa mattress went in, we captured these vignettes.

My mother passed away last October shortly after her 83rd birthday. It still seems impossible that she is gone. Still, I find her everywhere from books with newspaper clippings in them to uniquely rigged repairs. I came across her yesterday in the trunk of the 1981 diesel.  It’s from 1981 –  a Delta 88 Oldsmobile – and the trunk lid is extremely heavy and does not stay up on its own. I recall knowing this, although it was not something at the front of my mind. But yesterday afternoon I took it to Wal-Mart and when I opened the trunk to carry out the transfer of stuff from the cart, I saw an old walking stick.

Yes! Aunt Sara’s walking stick. Aunt Sara was actually my grandmother’s aunt; she was the youngest sister of the oldest Wisler boy who was grandma’s father. I think the difference in their ages was about four years. Aunt Sara was the one who married the Encyclopedia Britannica traveling salesman in the first decade of the last century. She continued to travel until she was quite old and then retired to a room in New Orleans. Not my choice, but I’m not in Aunt Sara’s league.

So, here is this antique walking stick and Mother used it to prop up the diesel trunk lid. I never thought that strange. But now that she’s gone, I guess I’ll bring it in and find an old fireplace poker or something of that ilk to do the job.