Posts Tagged ‘lost socks’

The Prodigal Sock

March 28, 2011

It has returned!

The lost sock is back in its rightful place, rolled up with its mate, tucked in the second drawer from the top in my dresser.

I discovered it lurking in the hamper, tangled in a pair of jeans, evading detection. How it managed to escape me for so long, I cannot say. All I know is that it’s back where it belongs now.

I’ll admit that I was disappointed when the sock disappeared, but a part of me never lost hope that one day it would find its way home. Tossing away its mate would have indicated a finality that I wasn’t prepared to accept. So the remaining sock sat on top of my dresser—a small sign of faith—and together we waited.

Staying positive is not something I do naturally or well. Seeing those socks in my drawer each morning reminds me to adjust my outlook.



March 7, 2011

I lost a sock.

In the catalog of life’s disappointments this registers somewhere above breaking the point off a favorite pencil and far below stepping in gum. Yet, I am disappointed.

I liked the socks formerly known as a pair: brown and white striped body reaching just above the ankle and a solid brown heel and toe for accents. Although I’d owned them for years—possibly as many as ten—they were in good condition, their elastic still stretchy, their soles free of holes. I own many pairs of socks (probably more than I should, really) but I wore these frequently. Now they’re gone.

Well, not they exactly, but he…it…one. I couldn’t even say which, for socks are interchangeable in that way. First left, then right—the ultimate in apolitical. Socks don’t mind which feet they cover—not like shoes, which will tell you right off if you’ve put them on in a way they simply do not wish to be worn.

It would have been possible for a neighbor, upon finding my stray sock in the washer or dryer (for I do believe the sock disappeared in the laundry room) to tack it to the bulletin board beside the other matchless socks. I might have seen it there and taken it back. (It would be highly unlikely, but incredibly exciting, if my sock ended up here.)

But no one found my sock, or if someone did, he or she probably tossed it in the trash. I’m certain no one would have mistaken my sock for her own.

There will be other socks, but none quite like this one.

Laundry Day #3

March 7, 2010


Sheets: 2
Pillowcases: 2
Towels: 5
Pants: 3
Shirts: 14
Pajamas: 1
Underwear: 18
Undershirts: 3
Socks: 43

Temperature: Warm/Hot

Cost: $5.00

What have we learned?

Optimism is sometimes rewarded.

The sock that went missing recently turned up in today’s laundry. No doubt it was languishing in the hamper waiting for its turn in the wash cycle. It has now been reunited with its mate.

I’m not by nature an optimistic person. Far from it, in fact. Yet I’m attempting to retrain myself to expect better from myself and for myself, and to appreciate the little pluses—sometimes very little pluses—that occur from time to time.

Recovering a stray sock might seem insignificant, but it’s something. Like finding a penny on the ground when you’re walking down the street. On its own it’s not worth much at all, but find enough and they add up.

Laundry is a Mystery, Part 2

March 1, 2010

Forty-seven socks were washed. That’s 47 individual socks; 23 pairs and one lone sock without a mate. (More math, and for this I apologize.)

Where is the missing sock? This is a fundamental mystery of laundry. And it poses a dilemma: Do you keep the freshly washed lone sock and believe that its mate will resurface, or do you toss it away and assume the mate has gone forever?

This is not quite the glass half-full/half-empty dichotomy, but it’s similar. It’s about uncertainty and hope, and how to balance the two.

Until I’m certain that the missing sock will never be found, I live in hope. There are so many places where the missing sock could be hiding.

It could be in the laundry hamper, unwashed and overlooked but available for rescue and redemption at any time.

It could be hidden within the newly washed and dried laundry—the corners of fitted sheets seem to lure socks in the dryer. I discover these lost socks when I fold the sheets; or sometimes only after I unfold the sheets to use them again.

It could be stuck to the inner walls of the washer following the spin cycle. Or it could have been dropped anywhere on my route to or from the laundry room. Finding these stray socks is more difficult, but it’s not impossible if we resort to the Blanche DuBois principle of relying on the kindness of strangers. For there are always lone socks tacked to the bulletin board in the laundry room. They were found by neighbors, or strangers (sadly often one and the same), and hung there for their owners to claim them.

As long as there is a bulletin board in the laundry room, there is hope.