Three years ago, about this time of year, I tucked my clothespin bag away for safekeeping until the next spring. I can remember it like it was yesterday; my mind being a steel trap and all. So when the next spring rolled around, and I couldn’t find the darn bag, I was a bit miffed. I knew exactly where I had put it, but it was no longer there. I searched the entire room, they had to be there somewhere. Nothing.
These aren’t just any clothespins. These are the old-style clothes pins. Ones that actually work. Ones that you just can’t go out and replace now days. Some were my grandmothers. I wanted these clothespins, not to mention the handy little bag.
I expanded my search. First, just focusing on the first floor of the house. I mean, why on earth would I have taken them upstairs, right? Nothing. I finally gave up and put the clothes in the dryer.
For three years now, every spring and a couple other times throughout the year, I’ve left no stone unturned in my house in an effort to locate the missing pins. I inspected every surface and every hole, no matter how small. If I couldn’t see into the space, I poked a stick in it to feel around. From the attic to the basement I looked EVERYWHERE. At this point it was a challenge. A quest to find the holy grail.
This summer, I had resigned myself to the fact that someone had broken into my house and stolen my clothespins. I mean, they are irreplaceable after all. I’m sure I’m not the only one who understands the value of a proper working clothespin. They probably stole them and sold them on Ebay. What other explanation could there be? I can remember EXACTLY where I put them, they were on a hanger in the mudroom.
My in-laws are visiting this week. It is snowing today. When my father-in-law put on an extra pair of work overalls to go out in, he found this inside. Exactly where I had left them three years ago.
I’m glad to have them back, but if I ever figure out who hid them from me in the first place, they’re a dead man. Gah!