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Ever frozen in place, jaw hanging open as a truly awful thought wriggles its way up from the back to the front of your brain and waves a red flag? The "oh, no, I forgot to pick up my child from school" kind of thought.
I just did.
In 1983 I had a letter from Ginny Heinlein, wife of SF author Robert Heinlein; a reply to fan mail I sent. I've saved it all these years, treasured it even. Thanks to the wonders of the net I became a friend of hers and it became even more precious to me. She died earlier this year and I've been asked to write a short in memoriam article. I decided to quote from the letter so it was on the shelf above the computer. I tidied up the computer room and somehow the letter migrated to the top of the fridge (about the only place my two year old can't reach). Yesterday I tidied the top of the fridge, remember seeing the letter and then - nothing.
I was in the middle of getting lunch just when I thought - fridge looks good, where's Ginny's letter? Where? Where? Oh, God, did I throw it away with all the artwork that I surreptiously bin when Eleanor is at school? I frantically tried to retrace my steps hoping that it was yesterday I did it and that it hadn't been collected when the trash men took the trash and recycling stuff. I ended up donning rubber gloves and transferring an entire garbage sack from one bag to another. I was glad when I didn't find it in there; gross? Oh, yes.
Then I had a thought. I put all the junk from the fridge to the top of the microwave. I looked behind it; the letter had slid down behind it.
My heartrate is slowing now. Sure, I know the letter practically by heart but losing it would have hurt. That was twenty minutes I didn't enjoy one bit. Except the last ten seconds.
I just did.
In 1983 I had a letter from Ginny Heinlein, wife of SF author Robert Heinlein; a reply to fan mail I sent. I've saved it all these years, treasured it even. Thanks to the wonders of the net I became a friend of hers and it became even more precious to me. She died earlier this year and I've been asked to write a short in memoriam article. I decided to quote from the letter so it was on the shelf above the computer. I tidied up the computer room and somehow the letter migrated to the top of the fridge (about the only place my two year old can't reach). Yesterday I tidied the top of the fridge, remember seeing the letter and then - nothing.
I was in the middle of getting lunch just when I thought - fridge looks good, where's Ginny's letter? Where? Where? Oh, God, did I throw it away with all the artwork that I surreptiously bin when Eleanor is at school? I frantically tried to retrace my steps hoping that it was yesterday I did it and that it hadn't been collected when the trash men took the trash and recycling stuff. I ended up donning rubber gloves and transferring an entire garbage sack from one bag to another. I was glad when I didn't find it in there; gross? Oh, yes.
Then I had a thought. I put all the junk from the fridge to the top of the microwave. I looked behind it; the letter had slid down behind it.
My heartrate is slowing now. Sure, I know the letter practically by heart but losing it would have hurt. That was twenty minutes I didn't enjoy one bit. Except the last ten seconds.