Waiting on the Roof

I was sitting across from my friend who is a physician the other day listening to her talk about how busy she has been, "I have been sleeping three hours a night for nights on end." I nodded in recognition of this pattern of existence. Lately I have been running from one meeting to the next, eating my lunch in the car, dashing around like a madwoman trying to keep my obligations from swallowing my life.

Three days ago I decided that my broken car key was too much to keep up with during a busy day. I went to the hardware store, and promptly had three keys made. While waiting I found a nifty, nerdy device that has a retractable chain. One end goes on your belt, the other end has your keys. "Now this," I thought smugly,"will keep me from ever losing my keys again." Seventeen dollars later I exited the small store buoyed by the feeling of finally owning the keyring of my dreams. This is part of a larger quest to find the perfect purse,datebook, shoes, and exercise plan. I want to figure out what works best so I can stop spending time thinking about it. Genetics lie at the heart of my obsessions. My grandmother fell in love with denim shirts, SAS shoes, white bobby socks, white underwear, and denim pants with an elastic waistband. When she realized this she purchased numerous copies of each article and wore them like a uniform. She had enough SAS shoes to last the rest of her life, or so she estimated after purchasing ten pairs and storing them in her closet.

Two days ago my husband finally succeeded in getting me to put that new AAA card into my small red wallet.

One day ago I turned off my car, watched gleefully as my keys retracted into my purse, opened and automatically locked the doors and promptly slammed them shut. Of course the three keys I made, the keyring of my dreams, and the broken key, were inside my car. I was in the act of slamming the door when that moment of recognition flashed into my small brain. "I am slamming the door and locking my keys in the car." It all happened so fast.


One second after slamming the door and locking my keys in the car I realized that my small cell phone, the one that is pink so my husband won't take it accidentally to work, was in my perfect purse next to my small red wallet, and ideal keyring.

It took nearly an hour and one half for Mike's Lock and Key Service to arrive. I stood on the roof of the parking garage, felt the sun on my back and the wind in my hair. Slowly I savored a cup of coffee that I had begged from a friend's office pot. The cup even had those quaint butterfly paper handles. Looking down from my perch I watched as people went to lunch, rode their bikes, talked on the phone while walking. It was the most relaxing 90 minutes of my entire week. After I let go of the fact that I was going to do nothing in that time that would contribute to my workload including reading papers, making phone calls, or organizing assignments for the rest of the week I actually enjoyed it. No one knew where I was, I did not have to answer my phone, and I did not have to say a word to anyone.

Sometimes you get the perfect thing in spite of yourself.