There was a series of audacious thefts in my neighborhood last week. In the middle of the night, one or more burglars pushed open unlocked doors of two story houses and grabbed any portable electronics within easy reach. I know about this, because I was one of the unfortunate victims. Actually, my husband and I were very fortunate victims, because as we slept we heard nothing. My office was not far from the porch door that we'd thought was locked but wasn't. I had carefully laid out my devices and my camera in their chargers on my desk so I would be ready for an early start the next day. I'd like to think this "grab and go" arrangement made it easy for the thief to leave quickly, and as a result, we slept undisturbed. I can't deny it will take a while for the sense of violation and fear to dissipate, but I know it will. And meanwhile, I have lots of opportunity to consider my attachments. We all rely so much on our electronics—my iPhone was like an additional brain, storing all my contacts and appointments, keeping me in touch, and preventing me from getting lost in unfamiliar places. My iPad was my portable desk. My camera, well, that was the filter through which I captured my perspective on the world. But all of these are just things. Even if I had imbued them all with my personal spirit, my insurance will help me to replace them. Having this happen is a startling reminder of what really matters, the splash of cold water that wakes me up to being present in this one lifetime, right here, right now. The cords that attached to my devices are useless now, but the only charge I really need is love. The connections that count are those to family, friends, and the reality of the bountiful earth that supports me.