Thursday, July 28, 2005
St Anthony
~ Patron Saint of Lost Articles ~Well St Anto's done it again, despite my scepticism and graceless approach. After all the miracles he's performed for me over the years as Saint of Lost Articles - and summoned at a moment's notice, to boot - you'd think I'd be more polite and believing. I learnt of his tracking powers from my Mum (who else?), who sensibly wastes no time grubbing around on hands and knees but immediately rushes off to light candles and plead her case with the good Doctor. They're almost certainly on first-name terms by now with mama granted special dispensation to charge all the various trouvés to her antonian account. Having done some homework, I see that St A is not just one of the Lost Article Saints, but the man to turn to for all your problems with Anyway, he's always been the saint my family turned to when things went missing. Shock horror. No sign of the card, even tho' I saw it clearly in my mind's eye as somewhere very sensible and very safe and by no means lost. Yesterday I was leafing thru my dwindling finances and thinking how convenient it would be to at least have my NI contributions sorted out. Before I knew what I was saying, I was blurting out a shame-faced supplication to the old boy. Nothing too cheesy or hypocritical - just that if he could see his way to dropping me the teensiest *hint* as to the wretched card's whereabouts, I'd be most terribly grateful and definitely make it worth his while, yadda yadda. So this morning over breakfast I suddenly fancy hearing some old *old* Randy Newman. We bought it in Hong Kong and shipped it all the way over here and it's never really found its purpose. Lovely piece of work, tho', with a deep secret panel ideal for storing booze and the like. I start moving the CDs around and deciding what I can give back to the girls out of the discarded Walkmen and headphones and cameras and wires in the main body of the cabinet. As I shuffle these items - like I've shuffled them once a week for the past five or six years - I notice these two dinky drawers right under my nose. I open the left drawer first and lo and behold the dinky leather card wallet I bought in Hong Kong to cope with the mountain of business cards one has thrust on one in the far east. Even before I open it, I recognize my "very sensible very safe" hiding place. How to explain this extraordinary coincidence? I must set out at once on a pilgrimage to Snoqualmie and St Anthony's Church in Carnation, there to kneel in kneel in all-night vigil, my hair shirt chafing as my trusty page stands a respectful distance behind, cat o' nine-tails aloft, ready for my signal to deliver a cleansing flogging. I tell you this, henceforth I am definitely paying more respectful attention to that Saint of the Day calendar. Meanwhile, I don't suppose my regiment of 12 readers includes a connoisseur of fine furniture on the lookout for a decent period piece? I must get on with digging out the receipt to remind myself what we bought it for back in the early 90s. 
I go to this beautiful antique cabinet where I keep spare CDs I never listen to and as I'm riffling through the racks, I think:
Breakfast over, I'm seriously tempted by the idea of getting rid of the cabinet.
I open remove the cards from the holder. A veritable cornucopia of ancient history:
