Chapter 1: The Enigma of Lost Objects

Why do we misplace things so often? The quest for identifiable missing items seems never-ending.

In my home, it's a common scene: my slippers are missing, my husband's wallet has vanished, my son can't locate his bike lock, and even my dog is searching for her favorite bone. We seem to be living in a house filled with lost treasures.

Paul Auster penned a book titled The City of Lost Things—or was it In the Country of Last Things? It's hard to keep track when I can't even remember the title correctly.

Losing items is an inherent human trait. If extraterrestrials landed and asked what they should know about humanity, I'd tell them we possess an abundance of items and have misplaced at least half of them.

What happens to all these lost objects? they'd wonder.

If I responded that I had no clue, they might think I was lying.

"How could you not know?" they'd inquire, possibly in a perplexed tone.

Is mixing up words akin to losing them? I've often pondered this. Did I lose those words, or were they never really mine to begin with? Am I simply ill-equipped with language, or was I never equipped at all?

If I am ill-equipped, does that imply I once had the right tools, just not anymore? Like having two socks but ending up with just one?

Some say I have a Chicago accent. How do you even spell that?

Currently, my toes are cold because I can't find my slippers. I’m attempting to warm them with hot coffee, but it's nearly impossible to distribute it evenly. Some toes are warm, while others remain chilly—it's a peculiar situation of losing and finding warmth.

My mother-in-law has heated floors, yet she still wears slippers. Perhaps we possess too much? Shouldn’t we choose either warm floors or cozy slippers, but not both?

Could this duality be why we misplace things?

I admit I own two pairs of slippers, but out of the four individual slippers, only one remains. This wouldn’t be an issue if I had just one foot or only one warm foot, but alas, both my feet are cold. I require two slippers but have lost three.

Would having only one pair make me more vigilant about keeping track? If I lost them, could I refer to them as my last pair instead of lost? Would I then have the right to claim I hail from a land of last things?

Would Paul Auster take legal action against me for borrowing his title? Would he argue, "I already wrote that"?

In response, I might say, "No, you didn't! You have too many books, just like I have too many slippers, Mr. Auster. The universe must balance out the clutter among us hoarders—err, humans."

I can’t seem to locate my slippers. I can only hope that a three-footed alien stumbles upon them and thinks, "Wow, these are cozy!" Perhaps that would persuade them to reconsider any plans for our extinction, given our nice possessions, which are easily accessible to anyone willing to dig through lost and founds.

A special thanks to T. Kent Jones for encouraging recycling and for articulating what I could not express.

Wouldn’t You Rather Be Laughing? Coming soon—MuddyUm's eagerly awaited first comedy anthology. Available on Lulu and Amazon.

Chapter 2: Reflections and Revelations

The first video, "When you lose everything...remember this," captures the essence of resilience in the face of loss. It reminds us that even in tough times, hope persists.

The second video, "Starting Life Over After Losing Everything," delves into the journey of rebuilding and finding strength after experiencing significant losses.