The Books

It has been almost ten years since leaving my old place, and  before leaving, I clearly remember packing my books.  I had two small shelves filled with reading material, nothing big.  It was just a modest, but meaningful collection.

I carefully placed all of my books into a tote, and I placed the tote with the other boxed items that were ready to be moved.  Several days went by, and the unpacking was in full swing, but it wasn’t until I wanted to read something one day that I decided to look for that tote.

I couldn’t find it!  Every now then during the passing years, I’d go down into the basement and look for the books, but I didn’t see them.

I started thinking, “where the hell are those books?”  Maybe I forgot them?  Maybe I left them on the moving truck?  Maybe someone stole them?  I didn’t know.  I had no idea.

Three days ago a bird crapped on my shoulder, and people say that’s good luck.  I always believed that to be true as well, however, that particular day didn’t really seem lucky, but a day later, guess what happened…

I found the books!  They were in the tote exactly the way I packed them almost ten years ago.  It’s crazy.  I think about all those times I went into the basement to look for them, and saw nothing.  Even though they were my books, I guess it wasn’t time for me to see them.  How weird is that?