Scofield | Years of items disappear to Island of Lost Things

We've all heard of the Island of Misfit Toys from the "Rudolph" Christmas special. I think there's another island out there somewhere -- the Island of Lost Things. I wish somebody would discover it.

I can live with the loss of socks that go astray in the dryer, but there are some other things I'd really like to find. Since we moved to this house five years ago, I haven't seen any of my vases, including the cherished one my grandma gave me -- the one I clutched to my chest to protect when I fell off the kitchen stepstool at the old house.

Also missing is a beautiful old needlework Christmas picture that Russ bought for me at an antiques store in Portland. It only hung on the wall from Thanksgiving to Christmas each year, but I loved it.

In November Russ and I spent two hours looking through the holiday closet in the basement, trying to find two harvest wreaths, a box of fake autumn leaves, a patchwork pumpkin and two cloth scarecrows. I found the turkey platter and the buffet warming tray, so I know Thanksgiving wasn't mysteriously wiped out of the holiday closet. I don't care what the rest of the family says; I did not sell that stuff at a yard sale!

We can't find a carrying case full of cassette tapes. They were all old music that we might never play again, but maybe, just maybe, I'd like to hear that folk music someday. And even if I haven't had time to meditate since I began writing, who knows what the future will bring? Maybe I'll light candles, play that New Age music, chant my mantra and drift off into a past life. OK, probably not. And maybe I did sell those at a yard sale, like the family claims.

During the move before this one, I lost a cardboard box full of clipped-out recipes. Granted, I clip out hundreds of recipes, go through them to find a special one, and end up saying "What on earth was I thinking?" about most of them. I always plan to put them neatly in a notebook, but they never get there. They stay in boxes or file folders. Now I at least separate them by category, but they're still a bunch of paper that might be used to start a fire on a cold morning.

However, that missing cardboard box was special. It represented at least 25 years of recipe clipping, some from magazines no longer in publication. I searched for ages before I found a replacement for beer muffins and Mexican chocolate bar cookies, and I never did find one for that slow-cooker bean dish that uses bacon, hamburger and four different kinds of beans.

Well, at least I won't have to buy a new bottle of liquid smoke each time I make the recipe, like I did for years. The old one was always dried out by the time I made the beans again.

I can't seem to let go of lost things easily. When I was about 10, an uncle gave me a shiny half-dollar -- a fortune in my eyes then. While I walked to the little country grocery store to spend it, I dropped it in the ditch in front of our house. All these years later, I still remember the smell of the air, the temperature and the feel of the damp grass I pawed through as I searched that ditch countless times. Twenty-one years ago, when we sold the house after my dad died, I made one last search. The 50 cents meant nothing by then, but the frustration of losing it still bothered me.

I've given up on the half-dollar, but I still have faith in finding the other things. The Play-Doh gives me hope. On one of 3-year-old grandson Jasper's visits I couldn't find the new box I'd bought. Later I found it in the back of my underwear drawer. A strange place for Play-Doh? Maybe. But Jasper always checks the sewing/toy room for additions since the last visit, so I hide new toys. Then, like Mary Poppins, I can pull them out magically when needed most. I guess I figured the last place Jasper would look was in Grandma's underwear drawer.

Our grandson-in-law's Kindle encourages me, too. It was lost for a few months. We all searched our houses, hoping he'd left it during a visit. The poor guy is holding down a full-time job while working nights and weekends toward his master's degree, and being a hands-on, supportive father all at the same time, so he multi-tasks whenever possible. Hence, hauling around the Kindle. A few weeks ago I borrowed their big crock-pot. Snuggled safely inside was Trevor's Kindle.

I hope to find my stuff in weird places like that. If not, it's probably on that Island of Lost Things.

* Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters. Her email is RDDLScofield@aol.com.