The Case of the Missing Needles

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.