Pamela Llano Zesty Mom
No matter what the news and my mother try to tell me, I still believe that the world is a good place. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes people are awful and everything feels like a giant suck fest, but more often than not, people are actually really good.
I’ve been known to lose track of things on occasion. There’s a lot floating around in this head of mine, and sometimes the filing system isn’t up to speed. Usually it’s little things like keys, sunglasses, and grocery store lists, but sometimes when my weary mind is full of too many things, I’ll misplace important dates, bills and other things.
More than once, the loss of things has caused a great deal of inconvenience and even some fairly huge pain in my life.
This makes me super appreciative of the fact that my head is attached~ especially in light of how many things are not attached, and are therefore rather easy for me to lose track of.
Last week, I lost my wallet.
Not just any wallet, but my very special “Bringin Home the Bacon” change purse, which is not only super cute, but also has some large scale sentimental value.
It started quite a while ago when I was visiting family, and in a store with a sweet, older, relative-of-a-relative, who wanted to basically buy us everything in the store. I’m not normally opposed to this, but while standing in line, I saw this display of adorable little purses, and this particular one caught my eye.
It had a girl in braids riding a pig with curly letters that said “Bringin Home the Bacon.”
It was exactly what I needed to represent that point in my life.
I was just getting to a place where I was the primary breadwinner and financial supporter of my family. Not only that, but we were doing OK.
So, when the sweet relative-of-a-relative offered to buy me the wallet, along with the cart full of other stuff, I couldn’t let her do it.
Well, to be honest, I was OK if she bought the other things, but I had to buy the wallet with my own big girl money, simply because I was in fact, bringin home the bacon.
Fast forward a year and a halfish, and I’m standing at a coffee counter 150 miles from home in a conversation I didn’t want to hear about things that could definitely affect the bacon that I’m bringing home. The talk gave me the grim feeling of a dead man walking.
Somehow, I managed to get through it without crying, running away with my hands over my ears or otherwise freaking out.
Unfortunately, all of the mind control I had to use left me absent minded enough to leave without my wallet.
I didn’t realize it was gone for hours, by which time the coffee house was closed and I needed to be on the road on my way back home. Without a wallet.
Fortunately, I had enough gas to get home and my license and credit card were in another part of my purse. The missing wallet however had cash and signed checks, one of which belonged to one of my kids who would surely do the freak de sheik if they knew.
It all seemed ironic, losing my sentimental money carrier when my money making possibilities for the future were beginning to look bleak.
I retraced my steps, looked everywhere I could access and left a note on the coffee shop door.
I then tried really hard not to beat myself up, freak out, or imagine doomsday symbolism in the loss. I have to say, I did better than I would have at most other points of my life.
It was a chunk of cash, but money could be replaced. And even if I did lose my main income stream, after all I’ve been through in the last few years, I knew I’d somehow figure it out.
Anyhoo, the next morning, I awaken to a voicemail from the coffee shop. Another customer had found a wallet and left his number. A few phone calls and arrangements were made. A friend picked up the wallet and got it in the mail. Within less than 48 hours, a delivery truck brought the wallet to my home, and EVERYTHING WAS STILL THERE. Cash, signed checks, even my belly dance class punch card. The wallet had passed through numerous hands, and no one took anything. Like I said, the world is full of mostly good people.
I’m feeling less dreadful about the metaphorical symbolism in the whole thing as well. Even if I temporarily lost track of my Bringin' Home the Bacon, it made its’ way back to me.
For now, I’m just glad that my faith in humanity is restored, and that I know in my heart that even if I need to find new ways of bringin' home my bacon, I’ll figure it out.
Who is Zesty Mom?
I'm an Artist, Writer, Funschooling Facilitator, Empowered Living Advocate, Wanna-be Organic Gardening Foodie, Travel Loving Life Explorer, Former Goat Herding Chicken Lady, and Full Time Mamacita Extraordinaire to a Couple of Cage Free Kids.
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