I'm not the kind of person who loses things all the time. I rarely misplace my keys or cellphone. But some items have been lost occasionally that were very important to me. A photo album, a bracelet, a christening gift for Boy2, Boy1's lovey when he was at an age where sleeping without his lovey was inconceivable for him (and that meant I wouldn't get any sleep either), and lately, my intuition.
The first time I called upon St. Anthony for help was when the lovey was lost. I called my mother in a panic and, while turning the house upside down, followed her instructions. St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come around, something is lost and cannot be found. After I hung up, I threw a bargain into the deal. Um, St. Anthony I'll stop swearing forever if you help me find this irreplaceable piece of cloth. And he did. So I did. Boy1 had stuffed his lovey into a little box in the bathroom I use to store tampons and something made me look inside that box that was much to small to hold a lovey. Seriously, since that day I can count on one hand the times I've slipped up. Now, my niece says that I cheat. Because I don't count ass or bitch as swearing. But really, anything you can say on highly censored American tv can't count as swearing.
Since that time, I have repeatedly asked for St. Anthony's help in finding important things because he gets the job done. And I always throw in a bargin just because I feel like I have to do something. I mean I'm not even Catholic (or much of anything) and here I am asking for a favor. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't have a deal with a michievous angel or saint pal who makes me lose the things so he can slowly chip away at my bad habits and character defaults during my times of crisis.
The day he got his biggest laugh was December 26th, 2004. My mother had gotten me a beautiful rosary bracelet (I know, I know, I'm not even Catholic) to replace a favorite bracelet I had lost years before (didn't know St. Anthony then either) and, at about 6:00pm, I realized it was no longer on my wrist. I provide the time so you can imagine all the ground I had covered. We had been all over the town center (on foot, of course), up and down and all around my small but tall house, and we'd driven a couple of places too. So basically, the bracelet was GONE and I knew it. There was no way, not even with St. Anthony's help, I was ever going to find that bracelet. So right away I started pleading and, thinking it was such a total lost cause, got out the big bargin material. St. Anthony, I'll do anything, um what could I do, I know, I'll, ha,ha, pray 10 rounds on that rosary bracelet a day if you help me find it. You guessed it. I found it. Under the driver's seat in my car. I swear I could almost hear the laughing. My mother, in fact, did burst out laughing when I told her what I had promised to do. My husband just said, "For life?" Well, I guess so as I had been too stupid to put another prepositional phrase at the end of the sentence I had whispered into St. Anthony's very attentive ear.
(Please note, of the above listed lost items, all but one have been recovered. I haven't actually asked for help with the photo album because I'm not sure I have anything big enough to bring to the bargining table for a favor that size.)