Hunting

I thought I knew where (approximately) the insignia were. The last time I used them, I put them in a zip baggie with a pair of white gloves, which then went into a small black canvas handbag embroidered with a tree. Find handbag, find insignia. I hope.

The handbag was stuck into the top of one of the "I really have to unpack this" boxes which were stacked in the cats' room in a mad effort to unclutter the living room before Easter dinner. In retrospect this was an error of judgement, but one I will try not to repeat.

So, I started digging, in as methodical a manner as possible. I found:

The insignia for two other organisations similar to, but not the same as, the insignia for which I am hunting. The ribbons are the wrong colours, so I cannot just swap a different set in and no one will notice, because they will.

Enough white gloves to outfit several colour guards and half-a-dozen debutantes.

My Girl Scout pins and sash.

A small cotton handbag resist-dyed with the image of a playing cat which a Japanese friend from my undergraduate days sent me. Attached to the outside is a temari ball her mother made. Inside was a PEZ dispenser (Lambchop). I am fairly certain that the PEZ wasn't from Hiroko.

Sufficient spools of ribbon to make three Maypoles.

A ridiculous number of books I didn't know were missing, as well as a few I did. The Viking will be glad to know that Vikings: The North Atlantic Saga is found. I am glad to have recovered Eloise.

A black leather handbag which is too small for practical use by a teacher.

My right-hand carpal tunnel splint. I knew where the left one was.

The shoes I wore at my wedding.

The handbag I carried at my sister's wedding.

Several unfinished needlework projects, though not the opus anglicanum which is walkabout.

Finally, in the last box, the black handbag with the gold tree. I see the zip baggie. I yank out the zip baggie, and find

tissues.

ARGH.

Frantic, I rush into the next room, where I can safely dump all the contents of the handbag on the floor. Gloves. Mints. More tissues. And, at last, the insignia. I collapse into the Chair of Frivolity and mumble fervent prayers of thanks to Saint Anthony.

Saturday is saved. There will be no guilt. There will be suffering, yes, much suffering, but no guilt.

verso - recto