I admit it – I’m plagued by multiple, silly frustrations this morning. I want to be reflective like the chimes in the photo above, but I fear I am not. I want to be writing my next book and I know I am not.

The weather hasn’t been conducive to outside clothes drying for a few days. Today the sun is out and the sky is blue. I did two loads of laundry and filled the line but ran out of clothes pegs at the end. Seven forlorn socks stared at me from the basket. No problem. For years there has been a round pail full of clothes pegs stored in the back room. I brought them home from my dad’s place when he died. Though I’ve never had to access this resource, whenever the clothes pegs have run low, I’ve always congratulated myself on having this bucket tucked away.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this story. When I went to get that bucket of clothes pegs, it was no longer where I had seen it sitting for years. A futile ripping apart of the back closet was fruitless or more accurately, pegless. They had disappeared – and not even in plain sight.

The case of the disappeared clothes pegs resulted in a pointed accusation directed at Bruce. He must have moved them because I sure didn’t. I caught him in the middle of trying to pump up a flat tire and get to work. Oblivious to my need for these particular clothes pegs, he said, “I don’t know where they went. I can’t deal with this right now. I’ll buy you more clothes pegs when I’m in town.” You can imagine how highly unsatisfying that reaction was.

His response brought out my inevitable rant over dissatisfaction with limited storage space and our differing approaches to storage. I look at storage from the perspective that less used things should be buried in the back and the more frequently required items should be easier to access – a logical and common sense approach as far as I’m concerned. Bruce looks at a limited storage space like he’s building a jigsaw puzzle. If a particular item or box (whether we need it once a year or every ten years) fits in a certain spot, that’s where it goes – be it front, back or centre.

To be honest, I’m not sure where a bucket of clothes pegs that has not been required in the last five years should be stored.

And what of this irritation about not writing? We have jam-packed a mini social whirl into the last four days and, don’t get me wrong, it has been wonderful. We had a family guest who arrived Friday afternoon and stayed for dinner and overnight. I picked his brain for all sorts of interesting details about his work. I stored those away for future use. We said goodbye to some dear friends who are leaving the area after forty-five years. They made the trek out here for lunch yesterday. And last night, we had a riotous visit with our nearest cabin neighbours. The wine and conversation flowed. The laughter bounced off the walls and out over the lake. At one point, I’m sure all five of us were talking at the same time.

It’s vital for a writer to be out in the world with other people. Inevitably, this will take time from one’s passion for writing and thus we come, full circle. I’m frustrated I’m not making progress on the new book but at the same time I want these other experiences, too. I’m frustrated with social media because I want to be writing the book but I also want to connect through the blog. And how can I deny my pleasure at checking into Facebook and seeing my granddaughters having fun at the beach, a picture posted not five minutes ago. And finally, I’m frustrated at the loss of clothes pegs that are really just things, no matter the satisfaction I imagined I would derive from using them. Oh the sweet dichotomies of life.

With all that off my chest, I’m off to write. And as you can see in the picture below, the dilemma of seven forlorn socks was solved by double pegging.