If you've kept up with my diaries, you know that ghosts have been lounging around our apartment. It appears that we've been invaded by faerys as well. In the old days, they were feared because, among other things, they were known to steal things, sometimes even people, even babies.
The faeryfolk of the past were not Tinkerbelles. They were a terrifying and dangerous presence in the world of the Celtic peoples. But also puckish and well capable of doing the unexpected.
Just last night they--or something--did the unexpected in our life. Something lost has reappeared.
Like most people who've gone through chemotherapy, I've been left with pretty patchy hair. (Whitley says that I look like a cat with mange, and I have to agree. He adds, 'a pretty cat, though.' Hope so, hub!) So I've been wearing wigs, and there was one that was my favorite, and I always got compliments when I wore it, so I wore it almost every day. I came out one morning recently and looked for the wig, and it was inexplicably gone. I thought, 'we've been invaded by thieving faerys,' but the true story turned out to be much more prosaic: somebody trying to be helpful put the wig into the wash, leaving it looking a bit like a used feather duster.
That was an explained loss, but now there's an unexplained recovery, and it's pretty incredible.
I have been missing one of my favorite sweaters for weeks now, and I assumed that I left it in a restaurant or at a friends' house. I found it this morning dumped on the floor of my closet. It hadn't been there before. It had just reappeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and this time there is no logical explanation.
I'll take responsibility for the wig. It somehow fell into the wash and I didn't find it in time. But the sweater is a genuine mystery. I have been looking for it for weeks, including in the precise place where Anne found it. It was lying on the floor of her closet in plain sight, and it is not possible that we could have overlooked it. Just yesterday, I was in that closet getting another sweater for her, and once again I took a look around. The floor was empty.
This morning, when she announced that she'd found the sweater on the floor, I thought, 'dear God, she wants it so much she's dreaming about it.' I started to commiserate, but then--incredibly--there it was. She was right. It had reappeared.
Now, this is not the first time something like this has happened in our life. Years ago, I fell into the water at night in a marina and lost my glasses in the process. The glasses were unique, in that they had been repaired, but because they were European, the screw used to reattach the broken fret was a little different from the original screw on the other side.
I got new glasses and forgot about the incident. Two years passed. One morning I woke up and, to my astonishment, the old glasses, complete with the mismatched screw, were lying on the little table beside my bed.
This was impossible. It could not have happened. But it did. Ditto the sweater. It was nowhere in this house, and certainly not in Anne's closet. But now it's back and she's wearing it.
A delightful reminder that we know so very little about the world around us.