I've started packing for a rare weekend outside the house, and I've got pretty much everything rounded up. Just this morning, it occured to me that a power cable to recharge the cell phone would be a nice thing, just in case. As I think about it now, I probably won't need it, but just the same, one of those good things to lug along.
I might have last had use for it on a trip last spring, so it should not surprise you at all that I can't find the thing now. How hard can it be to find? It's just a cable, and I must have a thousand cables in this house. Is that an exaggeration? Perhaps by a little bit. But my hundreds of cables (generic and specific power cables, USB cables, speaker cables, RCA cables, S-Video cables, SATA cables, SCSI cables, IDE cables (which are more like ribbons), coaxial cables, firewire cables, jumper cables, cable knit sweaters...) do me little good at this point, as they aren't the one cable I'm looking for.
However, it turns out that the USB dock that I have for my phone works as a charger, and I can plug that USB dock into the same little USB adaptor gizmo that fixed my iPod anxiety last week. Alton Brown would be proud that my charger is a multitasker (sort of). And, even fancier - I can use an unpowered USB hub to charge the iPod and the cell phone at the same time. That's over the top and unnecessary. Still, just in case.
Last week, I got started on rearranging my books, which reminds me that organization frees you up from having to find stuff. If the things are where they belong, that's less work that needs to be done to keep track of them. You know this, but it's a lesson that I guess I still have to learn and learn again. Maybe over the Thanksgiving weekend, I'll spend some time going through my stuff - throwing out what I don't need, and putting the rest in sensible locations where I can find them.
In nearly-unrelated blather: we had a rare day of not-rain today, so I darted out at lunch to clean up some blackberry vines from the back yard. As I was wrestling the thorny tendrils into the yard waste container, one of them snapped back, knocking my glasses from my face, and scratching me deep enough to draw a drop or two of blood. I'll tell people it was a fencing injury. Or a drunken alley brawl.