Here it is: the season of four fifty in the afternoon looking like eleven at night. I hate it when the days are so short the sun seems to be setting at half past four. Logically, I know that shorter days and longer nights are natural for this time of year, but it just seems wrong. Even though my pasty white complexion will never be mistaken for the pelt of a sun worshipper, I appreciate daylight, but ‘tis the season when it is in short supply.
Meanwhile, on Small Business Saturday, I was buying my holiday cards and Filofax pocket size calendar refill for 2015 at one of my favorite small businesses on the Upper West Side, Cardeology. The storeowner noticed that I had a refill for 2014. I thought that was a good catch and thanked him. He told me that he was no longer carrying Filofax calendar refills.
I felt like I had been stabbed.
How can he cease to carry it? I had been buying my Filofax calendar refills from this guy when his store was located on Columbus Avenue, when his store was a few blocks south on Amsterdam Avenue, and since his store moved north to it’s current Amsterdam Avenue location between West 85th and West 86th Streets. For fifteen years, I have been stalking this man for my Filofax calendar refills.
Me: Are you telling me that the time has come for me to quit my paper calendar? I have to note everything in my iPhone? I like the paper back up. I’m old school.
Cardeology Owner: Go to Gold Leaf’s Stationers. They’re on Amsterdam at 90th.
Me: Are they’re even open at this hour?
“This hour” was five forty-five, but it looked like the dead of night in the City That Never Sleeps. Gold Leaf’s was open and a good recommendation. They had my calendar refill, but I sense night is fast approaching for my relationship with my pocket size paper calendar, this relic of a bygone era after soap on a rope was put out to pasture but before the advent of smart electronic devices. For the time being, my pocket size Filofax calendar refill search had a happy ending, unlike whoever dropped a glove on the sidewalk.
Then, I noticed someone had dropped a pair of gloves.
It occurred to me that this is lost glove, hat and scarf season. Night quickly overcoming day contributes to the proliferation of the dropsies at this time of year because it’s even easier to miss losing things in the dark. It’s unfortunate that when we drop our gloves, hats and scarves, an alarm doesn’t ring alerting us to the mishap. In fall and winter, there would be a cacophony of constant ringing all over New York City. I would prefer if a sexy, cinematic melody such as the theme to the film, Last Tango in Paris, would accompany my fallen knitwear as opposed to the obnoxious raspberry sound effect bad karma is actually sending my way.
Two weeks ago, I was at the theater on a very chilly night with my friend, Milton, when I suddenly realized that I had lost my hat; a knit cap I had recently purchased. No alarms rang or music played when that happened. Only the less than dulcet tones of my whining could be heard. Milton had seen it on my head when we took our seats, but after I removed it we could not find it anywhere. We looked under, behind and in the sides between our seats. But it seemed to have vanished. It was baffling. At the end of the play, Milton entered Sherlock Holmes mode, determined to find my missing hat. Somehow, it landed at the end of our row, several seats away from us, no doubt unintentionally kicked to kingdom come by Big Foot Bertha. Unlike people who are losing their gloves, left, right and center, never knowing what became of their missing mitt-wear, I got lucky and got my hat back thanks to my friend being part bloodhound. Even though I am headless about losing my things, at least for now I’m not hatless in the dark.