Mary went to a garage sale a couple of miles up East River road not
long ago. The house belonged to an old man who'd run a sewing machine
shop for some years, his daughter was conducting the sale.

I'm unclear on some details here, but somehow the woman called Mary
today to ask for a bit of help. The house is now in foreclosure
because the old man (now 80) had kept remortgaging it to keep his
sewing machine biz afloat. His daughter is trying to finish things
up because he's moved elsewhere, the heat is off (cold in the
house), the bank is gonna take it over on Friday, her little boy is
sick today, could Mary perhaps come keep an eye on things for an hour
or two? Well, sure! So she did. Mary does things like that, very
quietly. She doesn't even know these people. My dad sometimes said
good deeds don't count if they're attributable. Mar never knew my dad,
but she seems to have the same attitude. I like that about her.

Hokay, so I was on the way out the door with rangebag, ammo bag etc,
ontheway to the range for a shoot ... when the phone rang. It was
Mar. Could I come over with the truck to pick up a very sturdy
ironing board and a little Ethan Allan rocking chair that was about to
hit the dumpster if they couldn't be given away? Well, sure. Put
guns back in lockup, I can always shoot tomorrow. Grabbed my
cellphone and truck keys and off I went. I've gotten in the habit of
grabbing the cellphone whenever I go anywhere. I never intend to use
it and never turn it on, but problems do happen now and then.

When I arrived, some church lady was there with a couple of
sorry-lookin' "poor refugees from Somalia" (read illegals) scavenging
and scrounging. Mary asked me if I had a Phillips screwdriver along,
they needed one to disassemble a dresser they were taking for free.
Well sure, I always have a toolbox in the truck. Got out a
screwdriver, put the toolbox back in the truck and locked the truck.
I handed a poor refugee the screwdriver. They proceeded to attack
the piece of furniture. None o' my beeswax, I kept still.
Churchlady was yelling and shrieking at these bozos, confided to me
that "these poor people don't know how to use tools!" "So ya give 'em
tools" I thought, but said nottink. They were obviously not even
slightly interested in being advised or helped. Whatever. She'd
unlatched the cage, it's her circus. I proceeded to ignore that
fracas, carefully carry out and load the Gibralter-like ironing board
and the lovely little rocking chair that the daughter had insisted
that Mary should have and wouldn't accept payment for.

When poor refugee came out, he was obviously hoping I'd forget the
screwdriver because he had it in his hand but concealed behind his
wrist. I said nothing, just smiled and held out my hand. He said
nothing either, like "thank you" or something, but he did hand me my
screwdriver. Perhaps my smile might have conveyed something beyond
bon homme and hail fellow well met, but he was spookin' my tool
wasn't he? Yes, he was, mmm, yas.

Got home, discovered that I no longer had my cellphone. It had been
stuffed in the watch pocket of my jeans. Three searches with bright
flashlight confirmed that it ain't in the truck. Where else did I go?
Got the mail. Nope, it ain't in the mailbox. Brought the mail in the
house. Nope, it ain't next to the mail on the table. Where else had I
gone? Nowhere. It ain't in the driveway or in the grass. Conclusion:
it ain't here.

Went back, did a walkthru everywhere I'd been in that house. No
cellphone. I'd have seen it if it was there, because there wasn't
much left in that house and I'd only gone a couple of places in it.
Checked the yard from front door to truck Nope. Hm. Went home,
got metal detector, returned. Confirmed that it easily detected a
jack knife in the grass. Swept the yard in regions I'd traversed.
Nada. My strong bet is that it fell out of my pocket when I squatted
down to examine and then pick up the rocking chair, and it wasn't on
the floor more than a minute before its shiny presence was spotted and
glommed.

Oh well! The cellphone was only 20 bux, and Mar got a really nice
ironing board and rocker out of the deal. She really likes small
rockers and not many fit her like she'd like them to but this one
does.

Mar sed, "you don't KNOW that they spotted it and glommed it." I
agreed that I don't know it in any provable way, but we both know
it's so. She said yeah, probably.

I called Virgin Mobil and got the account suspended. There's only 31
bux worth of call time in the pay-as-you-go kitty, but I'm damned if
it's gonna get spent calling Somalia. I can re-activate it when I
either find my phone or activate a new one with the same number. The
lost one is now inop, at least on my nickle.

After supper we went to do a bit of shopping for provisions (bag
o'brass, box o' bullets, didn't need more pretty fabric or books this
trip), stopped at Best Buy to got another cellphone for $19.95. I
really like these Virgin Mobile (Kyocera) cheapo cellphones. I can
hear them better than about any other phone I've tried including
landline phones. I told Mar I won't open the blisterpack until day
after tomorrow, just in case the lost one magically materializes. She
said "good, you could still be wrong about the poor refugee -- and I
hope the phone explodes and blows his (deleted) head off." "There
there, Dear", I said.

I overlooked adding that enhancement to the last phone. Hmm...