Well. I am in Michigan.
My wallet, however, is in Minneapolis.
I cannot leave Michigan until I get my wallet back, as I cannot get on a plane without ID. The airline had found it, but I am still required to navigate the maze of Lost & Found to get it back.
2007 was not willing to let me go without a last kick in the groin, it seems.
Since there's nothing I can do about the wallet situation at the moment--the Lost and Found isn't open on Christmas, but my options look like A) have it overnighted if possible, B) Fly without ID, be searched, and hopefully retrieve it in MN, and C) have my long-suffering but willing parents drive me seven hours to Minneapolis to get it (They're willing and ready. I have great family.) or perhaps D) take Greyhound back (or E, have somebody drive my car up here and GET me, an act of self-sacrifice I can barely comprehend, but which has been offered.)
So, I'm taking refuge in oddity.
It came out over dinner that my grandmother, good Catholic that she was, used to keep saint medals and pardon crosses safety-pinned to her bra. My stepfather's mother apparently used to do the same thing.
The brain boggles. What saint do you wear 'pon your bra? Who is the patron saint of cleavage? (Grandma apparently favored Saint Anthony as guardian of the boobage.)
Somehow I had never heard of this tradition, but the way things are going, I may damn well buy Saint Jude and give 'im a try...
Update: Further family discussion has lead to the question "Is there a patron saint of getting laid?" (Yes, I have an interesting family.) I thought hey, if anybody'd know, it's the readers, and so I put it to you...what saint medal should adorn my cleavage?
Well, it looks like the wallet thing is resolved! Yay! I shall fly back, pick it up, and god willing, it will be there and I'll be allowed on the plane in the first place. The Lost & Found seemed confident. Here's hoping.
I must, at this juncture, give credit where it is due and say that my ex-husband James was a prince. I was looking in horror at a long stay in Michigan, waiting for temporary ID or the mail or something, and he agreed to meet with Carlota, transfer keys, take care of Ben (my primary concern!) arrange to pay the rent on my apartment (Lacking credit cards, I can't even pay it from afar!) and overnight me anything I needed in the paperwork department. Part of this was undoubtedly a reflexive-soothing-the-obviously-frazzled-Ursula, of course, but it was really above and beyond the call of duty. Whatever mutual incomprehensibilities led to divorce, whatever stumbling blocks we have encountered, however often I've taken his name in vain--I'll say before Ganesh and everybody, he's still a damn decent human being and I'm glad to be his friend. (I have a number of friends, many of them good ones, but I think the rarest gift is people whom you can call upon in times of crisis and not feel like you're imposing horribly. There's a number of people who would probably be happy to help out if I was up a creek--some even volunteered on this blog!--but the rarest thing is to get friends whom you can call and say "HELLLLP!" and you've owed each other so much over the years that it is not an imposition, but one more chapter in a long tale of mutual reciprocity. At some point, they will call you, and you will talk them off the ceiling or pick them up at the airport or hand them your car keys and say "Just take the plates off before you knock over the liquor store this time, m'kay?" We are always in the process of developing those kinds of friendships, but an established one is perhaps the kindest of all human relations.)
In other news, I had the argument with my mother about herbal vs. mainstream medicine again. It was long and protracted and got a little heated. (It is possible I got my stubborness from that side of the family.) Neither of us gave much ground, obviously.
So, uh, if someone would kindly make sciencey noises at me, I would be very grateful. The first person to post Avogadro's number gets a virtual cookie!