CATHOLIC BROAD'S LOST & FOUND

I love stories with a happy ending, and often we don't get one. The relationship sours, divorce ensues, bank account tanks, best friend gets cancer, Trump gets elected, tragedies happen--you name it, we know the story. 

But on this occasion, miracles did happen. So, picture this: Catholic Broad Annie is setting off to visit dear son Ben and dear wife Amy in their cozy L.I. apartment in Babylon. Our dog is dropped at doggy care; car is packed; luggage stowed; Christmas presents on floor; wine in carton; chocolates in box; and we're off! Not much traffic on a Thursday, thanks be to God, and after about 1 and 1/2 hours, my coffee demands an outlet. So we stop at a Dunkin' Donuts in Rocky Hill, CT., to fuel up and soothe bladders.

Soon we're on our way again (you know where this is going, right?), munching snacks and sipping coffee. Finally, finally we arrive in Farmington, L.I., home of the Marriott Hotel, where we stay during visits. We pile out and begin to unpack. C.B., otherwise known as Catholic Broad, searches for big-ass fake suede pocketbook. "Hmmm, not here. There? Rick, you see my pocketbook?"

Not to be found. Dismay, shame, soul dizziness. What have I done? We trundle our stuff into our room and sit down to assess the damage. Rick goes into hyperdrive, trying to track where we were, as neither of us remembers name of town where we stopped. (He's had 3 concussions from football and lacrosse, my excuse is chemo brain.) Then he accesses Visa account (thank God he paid with credit card), finds name of town, and gets numbers (there are two) of Dunkin' Donuts there. No one answers. Or if they do, they have seen nothing and give digital *shrugs* over the iPhone. I send up several fervent prayers to St. Anthony, my go-to saint when I lose something. Never failed me yet.

Rick calls Police Dept. in Rocky Hill. (Can I say enough good things about these folks?) They suggest filing a police report to cover insurance costs because--wait for it--here's what C.B. had in her big-ass purse:
--iPhone
--iPad
--wallet with all cards plus cash
--car & house keys
--hand sanitizer
--holy relic

I am feeling downtrodden, stupid, and wasting of my dear one's time. We cancel credit cards and lock the iPhone.  But, as Rick says, "No broken bones here and no blood. Everything can be replaced." Such a good attitude, that guy.

So we go out for dinner at Tapas place in Babylon--Barrique Kitchen & Wine Bar, wonderful--visit with "kids"--and spend a pretty decent night in hotel. Have I mentioned before that my idea of heaven is having my own private barrista who makes me cappuchino in the a.m. and fixes me fabulous oatmeal? And smiles before 9:00?

We have a grand day at an aquarium in Riverhead (who knew?) and file a police report. Just after we settle in for wine and fabulous food at Ben and Amy's apartment, Rick gets a call on his cell phone.

"Hi, this is the Rocky Hill police department. We've come into the Dunkin' Donuts to review the Security Camera feed to see if we can gain more information. So, I have good news and bad news."

"Give me the bad news first."

"The Security Cameras did not cover where you were seated. But the good news is--someone hung your wife's purse in the employee's section, and it is all here. Come by tomorrow to pick it up."

Shouts of joy! Clinking of wine glasses! Barking from small maltipoo dog. We can hardly believe it. How good people can be, and how often I forget this. Trump has ruined my brain.

On our way home, we pick up the lost item at the Police Station where a wonderful young policewoman hands me the bag, asking me to check if all is there. It is, including the cash. And Praise God, the thing that was irreplaceable was my first-class relic--a fragment of the cloak of St. Marguerite D'Youville, given to me by a friend, an ex-nun. And for the non-Catholics out there, there are 3 classes of relics, and a first-class one (not easy to get at all) has touched a saint's body, or is actually a bit of hair or a toenail, and is more powerful. I cherish this relic and always carry it in my wallet beneath my license.

The policewoman kindly asks me (sussing out big-ass pocketbook), "How could you lose this?" I lift my hands, smile and say, "Chemo brain, honey, it's all chemo brain."  And good people, St.Anthony and hard-working husband.