The other day I took the 83 bus to Inman Square (Cambridge).  I’m not typically a bus rider, but my colors are changing.  It’s not having to worry about parking that sold me.  Add to that the benefit of not having to schlep to and fro a remote/most likely resident permit spot and you have a no-brainer.

When I sat down I rested my umbrella near my feet and reminded myself several times not to space out and forget it.  Hey- it happens… to me… a lot.  Many moons ago (1999) I kicked myself very hard when I left my Monet umbrella on the PATH train.  In addition to my love of impressionist imagery, this particular umbrella had sentimental value.  My mentor and first boss gave it to me as a send off gift when I left for New York “so that (I) would always be covered.”  It’s nice to have such reminders in the big city.  [The real utility ended up being less about staying dry than shielding against having an eye poked out when charged by a herd of harried commuters with their own rain gear.] 

Lately I’ve chosen to stop beating myself up about misplacing that particular possession.  Thanks to emotional object permanence, I don’t need it.  Better yet, I’m glad I lost it.  Now I am reminded of the thought behind the gift every time it rains.   Furthermore, acknowledging that umbrellas are transitory objects is a more positive way to frame the issue.  They belong to the planet at large instead of the individuals who carry them.  

One is blown away by the wind and boomerangs back with live-in childcare.

Don’t have kids? 
Grieve your lost umbrella with a fruity cocktail.  You’ll likely get a small one as a lovely garnish.

Tags: bus rider, Cambridge, Inman Square, New York

After I published my previous entry, I wasted no time descending deeper (and deeper) into my trusty bag of worst case scenarios. This person had travelled the globe, remained in one piece and it only took me a few days to loose her. It was, far and away, the most catastrophic thing to happen on my watch. D. was clearly unconscious/bleeding/lost in a ditch/alley/quarry because I had failed miserably at being a hostess with the mostest.

Standard operating procedure was followed and I called the Cambridge, Somerville and MBTA police with a description of my friend. Better safe than sorry, though I wish filing a “delayed persons” report was an option. The label of going through “missing persons” procedure gave me the push I needed to dive face first into my crazy. Maybe that’s an exagerration. I did feel a little bit better after having performed due diligence and eventually passed out around 3:30/4 AM.

Do you get the sense that I’m avoiding getting to the point? If not… check your pulse and have your cognitive ability tested. I actually started drafting this post the morning after my full scale freak out. It wasn’t that I wanted to build tension and drama for my band of loyal followers brother and best friend. You’ll find no shades of Grey’s Anatomy here. No salary negotiations to follow trying to gleam if I’ll sign on for another season. As protagonista and proprietor of this here monoblog I am locked into a lifelong contract with… well, me.

Originally uploaded by Jess Cartwright.

I guess I’m feeling a bit, shall we say, sheepish. What I am about to share is humbling to say the least. I suspect that events of last week unfolded as they did in order to bring about karmic balance for the high level of amusement I get from watching season after season of “The Bachelor”. It goes without saying that there’s a chance I may not be the brightest bulb. I am, however, determined to look on the bright side; focusing on the wisdom I’ve garnered in hindsight. (I have also racked up another cute story for use as conversational fodder at a high brow cocktail party 1/2 price burger night.) Lessons learned are as follows:

1- D. is not 6′ tall. She is 5′ 10″. For the record, I believe this still qualifies her as an Amazon for those of us 5′ 6″ and under.

2- Sometimes stealthy people cover themselves with a down comforter in such a way as to be completely undetectable to the naked eye. (Again- for the record, the bed was unmade but it didn’t have the usual signs of occupation: hair/appendages jutting out in plain sight and that overall lumpy appearance.)

3- D. is a really sound sleeper who is unaffected by a crazy girl poking her head in and out of the guest bedroom where she had passed out cold at 6 PM after an afternoon of exploring my neighborhood by foot.

4- Had I been a tad calmer I might have noticed that the only two pairs of shoes D. brought with her were in front of the shoe rack on the landing next to the front door.

In other words, I have a perfectly good brain. I just need to actually use it to reap the rewards of the ironically atypical phenomenon known as ‘common sense’.

Tags: 3- D, Cambridge, head, hostess, Jess Cartwright, proprietor, Somerville, Somerville and MBTA police