The Hinsdalean - Community journalism the way it was meant to be

Lost and not found items haunt my house


Last updated 10/17/2019 at 12:04am | View PDF

Has anyone seen my white go-go boots?

Yes, I actually own white go-go boots. I acquired them a few years back when I had to dress up like a University of Illinois cheerleader for a scene in The Community Revue.

I might need to wear them again in this year's show, and I have no idea where they are. They are not in the plastic bin that has been officially designated as The Spot to hold all revue and Halloween costume items. They are not in the guest room closet, which has been unofficially designated as The Spot for a strange assortment of objects that have no other home.

My husband, in a desperate attempt to calm me down the other night, said he would help me look for the missing footwear. He at times has had difficulty finding a jar of mustard in the fridge, so I took a pass on his kind offer.

I've lived in my house almost seven years and I know where to locate most of the things I own. But there are several objects I can't seem to find.

The go-go boots, for one. A pair of black capri stretch pants. A pair of reading glasses (I have only two from the three-pack). "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" on CD.

I know of several times I have conducted frenzied searches for other items, many of which I have never located. But these are the ones that come to mind right now.

I also know from interviewing an organizing expert last month that if everything had its place in my house, I would have immediate access to whatever I was looking for.

I confess I dream of such a day, when clearly labeled bins and cabinets in the basement hold all the belongings I use on an infrequent basis - and all of the belongings I used 10 years ago or might use 10 years from now have been tossed.

I can come up with several really good excuses as to why my home is not more organized. The truth is, as much as I love organization, I am less enchanted with the prospect of actually throwing things away.

I apparently have passed this trait along to my daughter, who at times is unwilling to part with a gum wrapper, lest she might need it for some unexpected craft opportunity. I don't want her to become a hoarder and have to listen to lectures from my future grandchildren asking how I allowed their mother to grow up like that.

The truth is, the thought of actually cleaning out our basement storage room (which one day will make a fantastic game room) is daunting. I chastise my husband for saying things like, "We need a day when we can really clean up the yard."

"We're never going to have a whole day," I tell him. "We need to do a little bit at a time."

And that's why I need to do - lower my expectations so I see the disposal of an item or two a day as a major accomplishment. In just one month, I could get 60 things out of the house. That would be real progress!

In the meantime, I will say a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, for help with the boots. I am not Catholic, but he has taken pity on me in the past and reunited me with various objects I have misplaced.

I hope he hears my prayer. If not, the next thing I lose might be my sanity.

- Pamela Lannom is on vacation. This column was first published Feb. 16, 2017. The go-go boots are still missing.

Author Bio

Pamela Lannom is editor of The Hinsdalean

Email: [email protected]
Phone: 630-323-4422, ext. 104


Powered by ROAR Online Publication Software from Lions Light Corporation
© Copyright 2021

Rendered 06/20/2021 21:31