“It was always so funny to watch my mother’s panic rise when she misplaced something—until it happened to me”
by Stacia Freedman
“When my mom was the age I am now, my sister and I teased her unmercifully about her ‘special places.’ These were the black holes into which my mother deposited important items: her passport, an overdue bill, a wedding invitation and so on.
“‘I’ll find it. I’ll find it,’ she cried, scurrying from room to room, pulling open drawers. The problem is that Mom had so many special places that the odds of ever finding the lost item were somewhere between her locating her G-spot and her finding Jimmy Hoffa.
“Every room in our three-story house had mystery drawers containing a bizarre array of clutter that made sense to Mom but would’ve stymied a Nobel Prize-winning archeologist: plastic combs, matchbooks, department store receipts, keys that opened car doors and houses sold a decade ago, prehistoric chewing gum, falsies, lipsticks as dry as plaster, pens without ink, ink without pens. You get the idea.”