Patience is the Key

I lost my keys.
Not lost exactly, but I did not know where they were.

They had to be in the house somewhere, the car was in the garage and that could only be if I drove it in there... with the keys. These things happen when you don't pay attention to the little details in life. There is a disconnect between the brain and the body.

Well my body put my keys somewhere and my brain was not impressed.

As a duly deserved punishment, the body then had to wander the house, looking first in the likely places, then the less likely. I am pretty good at this, I even pick things up and look under them. Round and round the body goes, exhausting first all the probabilities, then on to possibilities, stopping short of the impossibilities because that means looking under the furniture.

Nothing. Hmm.
The world does not end, no sleep is lost, they are somewhere.

By morning however, the brain began to feel some frustration and took the body for yet another loop for a second and third look at all the places I already looked. Round and round. Is this a waste of time? Of course it is.
Checking pockets of coats I wasn't wearing, looking in drawers that I hadn't opened; any observer would note that the body is now in automatic; having learned the routine. The brain revs up trying to remember the exact events following my arrival home.

Ok.
Enough.

Just before the panic began to set in I remembered that there is a spare set to get me out the door and to work, because even a primitive life form eventually learns from past mistakes. Another thing this life form has learned is not to try and force the memory, it is a fragile and sensitive thing and does not respond well to pressure. I left it to percolate for the day, convinced it would eventually spit out the answer I was seeking.

It is very easy, once you begin to get older, to stress forgetfulness; to become concerned that if you continue at this rate you might want to tattoo your own name on your arm, just in case. I prefer to view it simply as a very full mind, like a large room stacked with boxes all stuffed full of memories and information. It is all there, it just takes a bit more effort to dig through it all to find what you are looking for.
Some folks, I think, have nice orderly minds, with alphabetized information, possibly colour-coded memories. Mine is a mess; childhood memories interfiled with useless trivia, old phone numbers and a truly frightening hoard of song lyrics. It may need more time, that's all.

Anyway.
A full 24 hours after my arrival home the answer finally meandered in, and it made perfect sense. My keys were in the trashcan in the garage; dropped there along with the road trip refuse in an uncharacteristic fit of tidiness. The real bonus here is that today was garbage day, and if I had not wasted all that time running around looking for them, I would have had the time to take that can to the curb.