In the course of daily life, things go missing around the house. Shoes, keys, wallets, phones . . . at times you think they've vanished into thin air. When my kids were younger, I would reassure them. Don't worry. Everything turns up eventually.
Sometimes I'm not very good at following my own advice. The other night I was looking for a particular needle size. I knew I owned the needles . . . it was just a matter of locating them. I searched the box where I keep my needles. Make that usually keep them since the ones I needed weren't there. I went through all my project bags. I checked the closet for stray projects. I searched baskets that often contain bits and pieces of knitting. I went back to the box of needles. No luck.
At the two-hour mark of my now frantic search, I began to question whether I owned the needles or not. I consulted my knitting notebook where I jot project notes and found evidence that I had used them two years ago. I had been thinking maybe I could substitute a different needle, but that tiny shred of information spurred me on.
It was all coming back to me. I remembered the project and knew I had ripped it out last year in one of my pandemic-induced cleaning binges. Where had a put the needles?
That led to more searching in the area where the project had been languishing. I went through drawers, the desktop organizer, cups with pens and pencils . . . any place where I could easily stash needles.
I went back to the project bags. One more time, I told myself. This time I hit the jackpot. The needles were in their wrapper at the bottom of a project bag under a ball of yarn. I had searched that bag earlier but obviously didn't do a very thorough job.
My theory still holds up. The needles did surface, but by the time I found them it was after midnight and I was too tired to do any knitting. And that was fine.
I went to sleep knowing the case of the missing needles had been solved.