I try not to be superstitious. It's such a silly foible to have, believing in omens and knocking on wood and worrying. My great-grandmother was extremely superstitious, and my great-uncle once caused her to faint dead away by wearing black and opening an umbrella inside her house. Still, I have never been able to put new shoes on the table without experiencing a feeling that I'm pushing the envelope in some way. (Extreme bad luck will result...) I refrain from running in, screaming, from another room when my daughter is about to put the new shoebox on the kitchen table.

But in yesterday's post, when I said my new project was simple and should be whipped up in a few days I did wonder if I'd jinxed myself. And I knew I had when I discovered that I had only half of the blocks that I'd made, and the rest were completely AWOL. So I spent most of yesterday wandering around contemplating where on earth they could be, and tearing apart every cupboard and set of drawers trying to find the container. I knew where it was before I moved back into my downstairs sewing room; I just didn't know where it was now.

Logically, it always has to be in the last place you look, because once you find it you stop looking. And late in the afternoon I contemplated, yet again, the shelves in the cupboard containing all my backing fabrics. I knew that it was the most logical place for me to have stored the box of blocks, but they weren't there. In a flash of insight I realised that the material didn't reach all the way to the back of the cupboard, leaving a space....

I'm glad to have found the wretched blocks, cross to have wasted a day looking for them, and musing over the fact that it was both the first place I looked for them, as well as the last.