Lost...

... for Knots in the String.

“If you’re not careful, you can spend your whole life looking for what you lost. Be careful what you wish for; Not all lost things should be found.” Moïra Fowley-Doyle  Spellbook of The Lost and Found.

That quotation has a far deeper meaning than anything I might offer today, but if you permit, I’ll tell my ‘lost’ story anyway.

When Mum died, her jewellery became mine. I subsequently had two very delicate bracelets made out of small diamonds and gold from Mum’s collection. But in one of those fateful moments and in a time of fun and games in the ocean, I lost them. I could imagine them slipping down down, all shy glitter and diamond sparkle, to land on a crab’s maw or a fish’s head. We tried to find them by diving, but with shifting sands and waves, it was a fool’s errand and I wept. They were pretty and precious like the Ole Lynggaard bracelets Queen Mary of Denmark wears, and I had worn them every day, loved them – a little piece of Mum with me all the time.

Each time we had a big swell, waves crashing on the beach, I hoped to high heaven they’d be washed up. Tosh, really. The reality was that I knew in ages to come, some archaeologist would find them and divine something totally fictional about our coastal culture.

With what was left of Mum’s collection, I had two more bracelets made as similar to the others as I could. A ball with an equator of tiny diamonds on a super-fine white gold chain. The other? Three miniscule gold balls from Mum’s melted down wedding ring, alternating with two petite diamond flowers from an antique dress ring. Despite the way they might sound, they were unpretentious – a bit like Mum.

(The image is blurred and it is difficult to see the little flowers.)

Move on to Easter Thursday. I’d been ill for a while but trucking on, hadn’t been eating much and the bracelets had become loose. I was gardening and I suspect that as I pulled off my gloves, the little flower bracelet had peeled off too. We feverishly raked the lawn and sieved the cuttings searching, seeking. We went over every inch of the Matchbox garden, but nothing sparkled. Just in case, I even checked inside the house, the laundry, bathroom, kitchen. I even stripped the bed and remade it.

Mum had spotted the petite flower ring in an antique store many years ago and Dad had purchased it because she was so charmed by it and he loved her. I remember how unique she thought the ring was and how she would slip it on and hold her hand out, smiling at the tiny flowers. And despite me saying so often in various newsletters that memories are always with us whereas tangibles aren’t, I felt as if I lost a little of my Mum in the loss of the bracelet that had been crafted from her ring… (To be continued)

But Life goes on and so we have watched:

Trom. Excellent Nordic Noir set on the Faroe Islands. If nothing else, the scenery is jaw-dropping! The Faeroese word ‘trom’ translates to ‘cliff’s edge’ and the series is all of that.

The World’s Most Punctual Train. About the Hokuriku Shinkansen. A quick bird’s eye of all that is unique in Japan. There is something so perfect in Japanese culture. I’ve never visited but it seems to be edging its way onto a wishful bucketlist.

A movie with Morgan Freeman and Robert Redford about cowboys, death and country values called An Unfinished Life. It had depth from the two main actors, and with better production and a more solid script, might have been better than mediocre but I enjoyed it anyway.

Scoop. Might it have been easier to just watch a rehash of the original trainwreck of an interview on Youtube? I’m sure we all wonder how on earth the Palace could have allowed the original interview to go to air, because they did in fact have to give it the green light. In this dramatised version, I enjoyed seeing the newsroom powerplay, the research, the lengths to which the BBC would stoop to nail this once-in-a-lifetime interview and Rufus Sewell did play HRH very well. On reflection, the sad thing is that at recent public events, Prince Andrew appears to show no regret for his alleged misdemeanours. He does rather show supreme arrogance. He appears to have learned nothing, but narcissists tend not to, I suppose.

Reading:

Remember I found a superb French writer not long ago? I’m reading another of his – An Astronaut in Love by Antoine Laurain. I’m so impressed with this writer. So elegant. As I said once before – so French but without affectation.

Also, a revealing post on meditation which I appreciate as I’ve been a meditator for almost 20 years:

No, I don't wear saffron robes!

And on protecting oneself from bad news:

139. No news is good news

A post on memory and statins and other rabbit-holes:

Down the Rabbit Hole

A poignant post on loss and broken meringues:

Bright and Beautiful

And that, my friends, is just the tip of the literary iceberg that is Substack.

Swimming, walking, gardening (without bracelets). Ballet – happy days! Have I mastered the new waltz step? Cooking the harvest. Working through the lists of physically demanding things to be done before surgery. Writing more of The Oblate. And writing the continuation of the bracelet story.

So…

Earlier on the same day of the bracelet scenario, husband and self had been Easter shopping. I jumped out of the car, flung my bag over my shoulder as one does and popped into the pharmacy. When I went to pay, no wallet. Heart in overdrive. Backtracked to PO, to shops. Nothing. Flew home with husband to cancel my Visa card and try to remember what else was in the wallet. Imagine losing a wallet on Easter Thursday of all days!

As we drove in, our neighbour saw us and whether she noted our taut faces I’m not sure, but she called, ‘Don’t panic,’ and held up my battered wallet.

Apparently, a man had been walking from the supermarket with Easter eggs for his children and had seen the wallet lying on the ground (flipped out when I hooked my bag over the shoulder, no doubt). He found my address on my Driver’s Licence and as he was on his way to work, went to drop the wallet at our home. But of course, no one answered the door and so he left the wallet with our neighbour who had the foresight to take his name and the details of where he worked.

I bought a giant gold Easter egg, and went to his workplace, another pharmacy, to say a very heartfelt thank you. He was such a charming man, and it was so reassuring to know that honesty exists in this selfish world of ours.

But they say things happen in threes, don’t they, and so the next day, still under the weather, I went to hospital, not thinking at all about wallets or bracelets. Even before losing things, I knew hospital was approaching, which was part of the reason I was shopping and gardening. I needed to get things done before incapacitation with I/V’s and such.

Finally, home at the end of Easter, and on the depressing countdown to surgery, I was unpacking my bag and my husband said, ‘Close your eyes, hold out your hand, the Easter Bunny came while you were away!’ He dropped something almost weightless into my palm. My eyes flew open.

My diamond flower bracelet glittered and sparkled in its shy, unassuming way!

My husband had swept the paths while I was in hospital and had seen a glint amongst the twigs and leaves he had gathered at the back gate, close to where I’d been working. Clever man and I am so grateful! (But between you and me, I do think that Mum actually had no intention of allowing me to lose the bracelet and had made sure it would be found.)

Ah, lost and found…

I think of words we lose, glasses, friends, books, car keys, even cars in car parks, our minds, or in Rebecca of Dear Reader I’m Lost’s case, her way, and how flustered we might feel as we search. And yet, let things go and they’ll perhaps come home. Sometimes. This was my sometime and I thank the stars for it. I also know that attachment can be at the root of all our internal mind-ache and heartache and if we can float past it, we are the better for it.

But (sometimes) I wonder if the other bracelets will one day be washed up on the sand as the Terrier and I walk, he hunting for his special oyster shells and me just daydreaming as I place a bare foot down and feel fine, salty, sandy metal beneath.

What a thing that would be…

***

Music this week isn’t really music. I discovered a little animation about a man who lost something and spent so much time trying to find it that his life unravelled. But in the process, he found something truly important instead. (Like me – I found honesty and kindness, and Mum’s spirit wafting round the garden!)

I was captivated for the 15 minutes of viewing, so if you have a spare ¼ of an hour, sit quietly with your favourite cup of something and a biscuit and enjoy.