A great pin-search successfully concluded

Now that winter has returned, and about eight inches of snow is on the front lawn......
.....Linda has returned to various sewing projects, one of which is a quilt for Little Diva (Rachel’s Adrienne).
The sewing-machine has been set up on the desk across from my ‘pyooter-center.
It’s the surplus desk we got long ago from Lawyer’s Co-op, and we’ve tried to it give away. —Very heavy.
The sewing-machine is an old Kenmore we got eons ago from the Swap-Sheet, but it’s one of two.
We also have Aunt Ethelyn’s old sewing-machine, which needs a belt, and it lacks the bigger working-surface of the Kenmore.
So here’s Linda quietly beavering away on the Diva-quilt, muttering along.
All-of-a-sudden a pin flies out of her chemo (“cemo?”) addled hands and drops to the floor — hidden by the gloomy darkness and the berber carpet.
“Gone forever!” Linda exclaims.
She feels around blindly on hands-and-knees. “That pin has utterly disappeared. Sweeper-time!”
I get up and get a flashlight from the kitchen. “Pins don’t just disappear,” I say.
It’s a reprise of the time my Xacto Knife rolled off our slanted paste-up easels at the mighty Mezz.
“Xacto Knifes don’t just disappear,” my boss Frank Brown said.
I had already poked around on the floor, and given up.
It’s the old “stroke-effect.” Things just disappear into the nether-world.
So here’s Frank, groveling on the floor, pulling back carpet in search of the Xacto Knife.
“What’s this?” he says, holding up the Xacto Knife.
I sweep the flashlight over the carpet.
“What’s this?” I say.

“Linda” is my wife of nearly 40 years. She has lymphatic cancer. (It’s treatable with chemo-therapy.)

“Rachel” is my brother-in-Boston’s only daughter. “Adrienne” (“Little Diva”) is her only child, my brother-in-Boston’s only grandchild.

For almost 35 years, my wife worked in Rochester at a company that started as “Lawyers Co-operative Publishing Company.”

“Aunt Ethelyn” was my wife’s mother’s older sister. She died a few years ago at age 98.

“Cemo” is how my macho, blowhard brother-in-Boston claims “chemo” is spelled.

The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost two years ago. Best job I ever had. When I was first there, the newspaper-pages were “pasted-up” on cardboard page-dummies that were photographed when finished to make printing-plates. The boss of paste-up was Frank Brown.

I had a stroke October 26, 1993.