LOST

Look over there, see that flash of color moving at the speed of light?  See the whirlwind of flying debris?  Books, papers, yarn, fabric; it all goes flying, spinning, unleashed in a powerful storm.  Is it a whirling dervish invading our house?  No?  Hear the stream of invective, the mutters and curses and crazy conversations?  Is it the Madwoman of Chaillot?    Do you hear the banging and clanging as furniture is upended, objects are hurled, stamping feet pounding on the floor?  Is it an escaped herd of elephants?

No it is simply Mardel.  She has lost a piece of her pattern. 

This is not the first item lost in the last two days:

First it was the double pointed needle, the precious ebony one that was being used on Tesla.  Five were in formation, working away.  The phone rang, the knitting was laid down, and upon her return Mardel found the fifth needle had gone AWOL, escaping silently into the house unseen.  Where could it have gone… only 20 feet had been traversed.  The needle was no where in between.  Under the cushions, inside the knitting bag, on the table?  No needle. In the coffee canister?  The fact that on one opened the coffee canister is irrelevant – we know the ways of missing knitting needles – anything is possible.  Despair…and then –Triumph.  Lost needle found, right in the middle of the floor, taunting its half-crazed mistress.

Next it was the coffee cup, freshly filled with steaming hot coffee.  How can anyone lose a coffee cup?  It’s not small like a double-pointed needle and yet lost it was.   A good half-hour was lost searching all the possible locales.  Bedroom, bath, office, desk, ironing board, washing machine, bookcase?  Where oh where could the coffee cup be?  On the table at the Husband’s spot.  Of course it was overlooked, it was assumed to be the husband’s coffee, that which has been tainted with sugar.  But it was not, tainted that is, and all was once again well with the world, well, almost.

For there our poor hapless heroine sat, coffee nestled between her hands, savoring the aroma and the flavor of warm coffee, when a flash of gray went by, a flash of gray trailing a gray thread with a touch of metallic glint.  Tabasco had taken advantage of the general mayhem to indulge her catly nature and had absconded with the Tesla sleeve.  Upon retrieval, all the stitches were intact upon 4 needles and the fifth needle had gone missing, yet again. Probably a different needle this time, more successful in “breaking out”.

This needle has remained lost.  It may resurface someday, perhaps unearthed by archeologists many hundreds of years from now, archeologists who will wonder about the many uses of double-pointed needles based on the many varied and obscure locales in which they are found.

Tesla had to be finished with one bamboo needle; bamboo, which clung to the cotton bits and made the knitting slow and tedious, but the knitting was completed anyway, despite adversity.

And this is where we find our heroine, driven mad by yet another disappearance, this time a critical piece of a pattern, a pattern “That must be made” not because any higher being has so decreed it, but because our heroine has deemed it so.

She recollects that she had seen the missing pattern piece, the neck band to a favorite top, the Fashion Sewing Group 1960 sweater set, which she was determined to make.  At the time, it had been most notably out of place.  She had reminded herself that it should put it away immediately and had thought that she had done so.  And yet, a sneaking part of her brain recalls that she might, just might,  have neglected her duties, saying “where can it go?  I shall put it away later.”  Oh procrastination, hand-maiden of the devil.  The piece is lost, never to be found again, at least not when it is needed.  The cutting will have to proceed in the probably blind hope that it will resurface in a timely manner.