I Learn the True Meaning of 'Carry on'

The British are famous for their ability to carry on through difficult times. The tenacity of the country during the bombing is the classic example. That stiff upper lip thing.

They are also noted for some wacky humour in a series of movies with 'Carry On' titles. I have seen one. The humour is broad farce a la Benny Hill with some of the same kind of dialogue that makes Americans laugh at Airplane, no matter how many times they have seen it.

But 'carry on' also means a lot of needless bother or an annoyance or a tempest in a teapot. Today I learned that meaning.

The day started well. The weather looked promising if not good at the start. The morning news, which I watched in bed, brought no disasters--no one had rammed a flaming SUV into an airport, no more villages were flooded out, Alan Johnston was still safe and well. On top of it all, there was a possibility of good enough weather at Wimbledon to allow some matches to be played.

But then it went downhill. I have this unfortunate habit of keeping going sometimes when I should just sit down and be still. I had several of those unfortunate moments strung together so that I convinced myself that the laptop with my wallet (with passport) and cell phone and camera had been stolen. I went into a controlled meltdown. Let me just say first that I found everything. It was in the last place you look: tangled up in my blankie.

OK, am I the only pensioner with a blankie? I didn't have one as a child, but this faded yellow honeycomb mesh of acrylic provides a much needed extra layer of warmth for my American central heating spoiled bones. The comforter alone is not enough for the nights here, which, even in July, can be pretty doggone cold. When I looked for the laptop on the bed, I looked on the bed and under it and around it but not swathed in my blanket.

So losing and finding something would be a kerfluffle. To be a carry on requires first calling neighbors (tearfully) saying that laptop has been stolen and then calling police (again or still tearfully) and then cancelling bank cards (still tearfully) and then spending about two hours with the police and just shortly before the very kind officer has filled his entire notebook with my plaintive description of all the lost items and their sentimental value, discovering the lap top.

Tomorrow has got to be better.