In five years of taking the subway in New York, I never lost anything, but I'm already on my second loss on the MBTA after living in Boston for less than a year. Last March I lost a puffy coat, and while I am still perplexed as to how this was possible (I really remember wearing the coat the whole evening, since it was cold enough to have taken it with me, plus it was kind of a big, noticeable thing that would be hard to leave behind), I'd had it for several years, and was happy with the idea of some cold, coatless person adopting it from me.
But this week I lost my Estonian sheep gloves, which makes me very sad. I bought them from a market in Tallin back in August for far too much (the kroon was very strong), but they were worth it--adorable white gloves with a three-dimensional, fluffy gray sheep embroidered onto each of them, and of course memories of my trip sewn in as well. So far no one has turned them into the lost-and-found, either. My only consolation is imagining some little child with big hands finding them and loving them (since most adults don't have my childish tastes), and then coming up with a great story about the new adventures my gloves are going on.
I try to do that with all the material things I lose, or things I give away--be happy for the life they spent with me, and be even happier for the new lives they are embarking on. Just like with books.
Sentimentally,
L'Editrice
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