A Bag of Books

 

More than a year ago, a very good friend, Cody, loaned me a bunch of books that she thought I might enjoy. Over the months, I worked my way through them and returned them to the bag she had put them in, adding a few of mine I thought she may enjoy. Cody lives about 80 miles away and we usually meet half-way between our towns for an extended lunch and visit every month or two.
On our last visit, a couple of weeks ago, she asked me if I happened to bring her books to return to her. I smiled apologetically and told her I would put them in my car when I got home. I had plans to be in her town the coming Saturday to celebrate the 100th birthday of my former mother-in-law. (Imagine, a hundred years old!!) Cody and her husband also know the birthday girl and would be there so I could give her back her books.
The night before the party, two of my grandkids slept over. They were riding with me to the celebration. Anyone in this situation knows kids bring half their worldly possessions with them to spend the night. When we got to the party, the kid’s dad, my son, asked me for the keys to my car so he could get all their gear loaded back into his car.
Cody had graciously invited me to spend the night so I wouldn’t have to drive home in the dark. As we watched a movie that evening, she asked if I happened to bring her books. “Yes! They’re in the car.” She told me not to get them now, it was cold and dark out.  I remarked, “I guarantee that neither of us will remember in the morning,” and we both laughed.
So, when morning came, we had a nice breakfast, then I packed up to leave. We said our good-byes. Back in Green Bay, as I pulled into my driveway, I remembered her bag of books tucked neatly behind my seat and never returned to her. I immediately e-mailed Cody and told her our memories are pathetic. “I am not bringing those books back in the house, either. They will be in the car the next time I see you.”
A few hours later, my fourteen-year-old granddaughter called me. “Grammy, did you have a bag of books in your car?”
“Yes?”
“Well, my dad thought they were mine, and he loaded them into our car.” So, Cody’s books are back in Green Bay at my son’s house. They were not in my car when I was at her house, even if I had remembered to give them back. Nor are they in my car now.
OMG! How does this stuff happen? I promise, you will get your books back…someday.

3 thoughts on “A Bag of Books

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