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A 24 hour mystery.

Saturday evening at about 5:00 PM I was leaving to meet friends for dinner. I discovered that my wallet was missing. I search the house several times. I didn't find it. So I raided the cookie jar for cash and left without it. When I arrived late at the restaurant I told my girlfriends why and they were concerned about the lost wallet. I was concerned about my lost wallet. I continued to search that night and the next day. We checked online for activity on our credit card account and there had not been any ...yet. At around 5:30 PM Sunday I called my daughter and left a message asking her to check Grace's bags that she had taken home from our house on Friday; maybe my wallet had accidentally been put in with her toys. That or I put it in the freezer or someone had taken it out of our car when we went to the park on Thursday, the last day I remembered having it.

Faith returned my call after about a half an hour. "Mom check under the umbrella stand. Grace says she put it there to hide it from you. She said it is under the umbrella table."

And there it was. : )
And that is why one should never worry about such things...just ask your three year old granddaughter where it is.

I guess for the last month she has been hiding things...her dada's eye-glass case and flash drive among other things. I am anxious to tell my girlfriends where it was...the last place I would have looked and the last thing that I thought had happened. It also will be a fun story to tell Grace (along with many others) when she grows up.

This fence runs along the former property line of the Aulds. They were an elderly couple who lived down the street from my parents' home in Paradise, California when I was a kid. I adored the Aulds - they were the sweetest people. I would ride my bike down the street and stop and knock on their door, and they would always greet me with a cookie jar. They would ask me how I was doing, what I was up to, what my plans were for the day. They'd even give my dog Chee Chee a cookie or two. And their house, with its deck overlooking the canyon, and their yard, was always immaculate.

This trip I couldn't even bring myself to photograph the house. It looked like your typical Paradise white trash residence: huge trucks parked in front, cars in various stages of disrepair, the house badly in need of a paint job and unkempt, the gardens completely neglected. I've seen this story repeat itself time and time and time again in my neighborhood: beautiful gardens and homes which, after the residents pass away, are taken over by negative forces of destruction and neglect. Like the house on the corner where the little old lady used to live with her incredible, ornate gardens. It was taken over after her death by some moron who used it as a junkyard for his crappy old cars.

I should be hardened to it, but it breaks my heart everytime.