Stripped threads and loose wireless

My mom used to tell me "you'd lose your head if it wasn't screwed on."

The older I get, the more I realize she was right. In fact I'm beginning to think I've got a few stripped threads.

Not to lay blame, but (sorry Mom) I'm also beginning to think it's a family trait.

My mom used to go through all of our names until she came up with the right one. I go through all the names of our three dogs before I get to my sons' names. The other night Jeremy called my husband "Max" -- the name of our golden retriever. (In mom's defense she's never called me Duke or Shorty.)

But the names aren't the only things I've been losing lately.

Monday night I spent the evening on the phone making calls. The next morning the phone was nowhere to be found. I tore the living room apart, I tore the kitchen apart. I looked through all the laundry. I desperately searched in the bedroom. The phone wasn't in the house.

I checked under the seats in the car. I checked in the trunk. I looked in the glove box. Then I went to the office and cleaned out my desk.

When that didn't work, I went back to the house and looked through the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom, the laundry room and the storage room.

Still there was no phone. The next day I turned the recliner over. I tore the cushions off the couch. I took everything out of the medicine cabinet. I even checked in the refrigerator -- no phone.

Finally, I gave up and went to the cell phone store and bought another one.

But I was still determined to find that phone, so I went back through the routine.

Finally, in desperation, I told Jeremy I was going to the trash can. I dug through a few grocery sacks and found nothing. I pawed through the pop bottles and found nothing. I maneuvered around the leftovers from Tuesday night's dinner and found a box that I had used the night before to throw away some junk mail.

I passed it up and checked out some more grocery bags.

"I bet it's in the box," Jer said as he stood over me, supervising my progress.

To appease him, I picked up the box and started digging through it.

I pulled out an advertisement for a new credit card. I pulled out a sale bill for a farm auction. I pulled out an advertiser for people trying to sell things in Minnesota ... and there, underneath it all, was that darned phone, cradled comfortably in an envelope announcing "You could be the winner of $1 million."

With the kind of luck I've been having, I'm just sorry I forgot to put a stamp on the return envelope.