And, then, there are these things I find, that I can't imagine how they've stuck with me through 13 moves, 2 cars, numerous purse changes, and nearly 3 decades. Like a business card from a man in Vegas who does things that men in Vegas do. It, like nothing else I own, has been forever found for 5 years (I couldn't tell you where it is now. But at some point, I'll be moving again, and find it hidden behind or in or underneath something, somewhere). Like a ring I stole from my mothers dusty jewelry box when I was 15. It's a solid gold knot the size of a champagne grape from Neimen Marcus (when my parents shopped at Neimans). I've lost it so many times. And yet, it always finds it's way back to my pinky where it always fits (the only finger on my hand that hasn't grown since puberty). A nearly empty bottle of perfume that smells like Mexican Chocolate and cherries I bought at a store in Fremont before Fremont was a place to buy anything but vintage. The oil is long gone, but the bottle, covered in a satin bag that's stained from the leaky bottle, sticks around despite a few efforts to throw it out.
And all this losing and finding and losing and finding, sometimes, makes me want to just stand still, stick my arms out wide, spread my fingers and see what I catch as the wind rustles it by. But really, I know, I can't get from here to there to where I want to be without losing and finding, at least every-once-in-a-while.