Tag Archives: lost and found


In case you haven’t followed this short story, here is the first installment.  A week has passed (minus a few hours) and no sign of the Red Knapsack.  It hasn’t called or sent a card, and I am assuming that it was destroyed or its contents have gone into other hands.

But those expecting a tirade on human wickedness will be disappointed.

In the post I wrote after my loss, I asked for people to send out positive energy. And wonderful things happened: some fifty people, in comments and emails, sent the most heartening expressions of love, enthusiasm, and compassion. Immediately after posting, I began to get verbal hugs from people (as far away as Australia) I’d never heard from before.  Love in all shapes and sizes came to me.

It would have been very easy to write an angry / mournful one-week-later post about how bad I feel.  And the loss makes me very unhappy.  (I have been good about putting the Second Arrow in the closet where no one can get hurt.  I’d give myself an A-.)

But I have received so much love, empathy, and good feeling that I am delighted by it.

I am in the process of replacing the equipment, which is costly.  But that act — of purchasing THINGS — is easier than finding people who love you and what you do.  I send love back to each of you, and gratitude larger than WordPress could contain.

Love in itself can’t shoot a video or upload it to YouTube.  But without that love, there would be no reason to have a camera or get on a plane to hear some music.

And the phone still might ring, even though the young-but-world-weary policeman who came to my apartment looked politely at me as if he thought I had lost track of my senses when I expressed hope.  But one never knows, do one?

And while I’m at it — although some of you might find my optimism excessive, which is your choice — I will celebrate a few other things.

In about a month, this blog will be five years old.  I won’t post about it with a picture of a cupcake, but you can tell how happy JAZZ LIVES makes me, and the joy I get from sharing beauty with you all.

A week later, I get to cheerily say, “I’ve been alive for another three years after falling down in 2010!”

And a few months later, I can look at the Beloved and say, “You know, six years ago we had lunch for the first time at a little Japanese restaurant that no longer exists?”

All good things.  Better to smile, inside and outside, than to weep and gnash.

May your happiness increase.