Lost & Found November 3, 2012. Published in the local paper.
It was a perfect summer day in July. My husband and I had packed a picnic to enjoy at Ambleside in West Vancouver. We could not have guessed that a short time later we would be frantic. . .combing the beach and garbage cans, wondering if someone was about to enter our home in Squamish or steal our truck.
The walkway along the ocean is a favourite of ours. With views of Stanley Park and Lions Gate Bridge, we follow the crowd of joggers and walkers, past playgrounds and parks. We find a bench in a small garden to enjoy lunch.
The breeze has died down and I take off my windbreaker. But first I have to remove my purse which I pull over my head. When it’s time to leave, I take my camera case in one hand and the jacket in the other. Back home in Squamish, I reach for my purse. . .but it's not there. We search the back seat, the inside of my pack, the trunk.
"Oh, no," I say to my husband. “I must have left it at the bench when we stopped for lunch. Without wasting a moment, we jump in the car for the hour long trip to West Vancouver.
"God," I pray, "I know it's not big on your agenda. It's just a purse. . . but it's got my house keys, my truck and car keys, my mail key and credit cards. I'd be so grateful to get it back."
We drive along in silence. For the next while, I picture a circle of light around my purse, keeping it safe.
At Ambleside, we comb every inch of space around the Ferry building. We look between logs and in blackberry brambles in case someone has dumped it.
The West Van Police office is our next stop. My husband wonders why the police would trouble themselves about a purse. “I’m sure they are interested” I say, “because something like this can lead to identity theft.”
Over the intercom, the police woman asks me to be specific. I hesitate. . . Have you tried, under stress, to remember everything that hides in the recesses of your purse? She prompts me. . . “ What about a health card? Your social insurance card? Your birth certificate?” I reply ‘yes’ to all three.
The officer says, “Would you hold, please? I have someone on the other line”.
I look Rainer’s way. “Do you realize what this will all cost to get locks on the house changed, the mail key done, the keys for the vehicles. . .? We’re going to have to park our vehicles somewhere else tonight.”
The officer comes back on. “Mrs. Schwarz. . .” “I have someone who has found your purse. You may pick it up from her house a short distance from here.
Tears well up in my eyes. I feel like I’ve received an unexpected gift. It appears the father, who doesn’t speak much English, had taken the purse home and asked his daughter to report to the Police. And here we are, on the phone at the same time. It gives me goose bumps!
Feeling stunned by the news, we drive up Capilano Road to meet the young woman at her complex. We introduce ourselves and she says, “good guess” when I ask if her family is from Iran. She explains her father had been at the Ferry Building and noticed a purse by the park bench. She apologizes for going through my belongings but she had to find my phone number to leave a message in Squamish.
I can’t thank her enough and although she protests, I write a check by way of thanks. I tell her I’ll send her some of my photo cards of the Squamish area. She says she writes poetry and asks if I would like to see some. We exchange addresses.
Three months later, an envelope of poems arrive in the mail. I have to smile. One thing is certain, I found an “angel” on that day in July.