On Thieves, Thievery, and Letting Go

A couple of weeks ago, as you've read below, I went on a trip to New York City. I told you about the city and about the schools, and about the yarn, but I didn't tell you about... the not so happy times...

I stayed at the Bentley, a small but tall place just across the highway from the water...



The day before we left to return home, I got food poisoning in a most dramatic way. I was so ill that my co-workers were checking on me every hour to see if it was time for me to go to the Emergency Room. I couldn't walk due to the vertigo and nausea - not that you need the details but I want to give a picture of how very unable I was to tend to anything during those two days.

On the second day of sickness when it was time to leave, a coworker came to my room and helped me pack up by tossing my things into my suitcase. I was so grateful. I wasn't able to even move my head to look around the room. Two coworkers walked me to the car to keep me upright.

Once we were about 100 miles out of town, I realized that I didn't have my raincoat. My raincoat, that had - in the pockets - my handknitted cashmere Veyla gloves - the ones with the antique jet and silver buttons...



The buttons were given to me by a dear elderly friend at work when she retired. They had been her grandmother's. I made the gloves especially to showcase the buttons and I wore them all the time. The yarn was from Mackintosh Yarns - a beautiful cashmere in a deep oceany teal and black...

Of course my first step was to call the Bentley as soon as I was able. Yes, they had my coat and yes they had secured it in the housekeeping lost-and-found area. Yes they would mail it to me - for $75(!!). I chose an alternative solution and a friend of mine stopped by the hotel to pick it up and bring it here, where she was visiting her parents.

Guess what? You guessed it! The coat was there, but the pockets were empty. No gloves. Furious is too mild a word for my mood when my friend told me about this.

I am heartbroken. My bf snickered when I told him how upset I was. He doesn't understand that things like this are irreplaceable. Sure, I can make another pair of gloves. But I can never make that pair of gloves, nor an I ever find that particular hand-dyed yarn in that particular colour, nor will I ever have those very precious jet mourning buttons from my friend's grandmother - ever again.

But he did his best to console me tonight:



And my friend did her best to get the hotel to actively try to retrieve these gloves from the only person who might have had access to them on their trip from my room to the housekeeping locker, but to no avail. They couldn't be bothered to even inquire of the staff involved.

I wanted to rage. I wanted to lodge a police report or call the press or both. I wanted that manager to realize that these gloves had involved a considerable amount my heart and soul, not to mention time, expense, and precious antique mementos. But I had to let go.

The fact is, that someone at the Bentley has stolen something from someone else. They will carry that dark cloud every time they wear those gloves, or when they sell those gloves on eBay, or when they give them as a gift that is not theirs to give. It is actually their loss. Because they will never be same, though they may not realize it at first. Their heart will be a little darker, their prospects a little less bright, and their hopes and dreams a little further away from being realized.

And me.... I need to learn to let the world relieve me of some of the beautiful things I carry with me. If I open my fingers, they can drift away to a new owner. They can be a gift, not a theft.

As Valerie said to Miracle Max in The Princess Bride,
Let them steal what they want; what do we have worth fighting over?