I was straightening the basement a couple of weeks ago, doing a better job than usual since time allowed and since, for whatever reason, I had extra energy on my hands.  An unexpected pairing, to be sure.   

In the corner of the basement, we have a small version of a basketball Pop-A-Shot that the boys received for Christmas one year.  As I was tossing the three small basketballs back into the Pop-A-Shot, I realized that each ball was low on air.  Really low, like, they weren't even balls anymore.

Since I was in that cleaning/organizing mood, I went in search of the air pump.  First, I scoured the garage, with no luck.  

"Adam," I called, into the general vicinity of the family room, where there was a board game being played, "do you know where the air pump is?  For balls?"

"Maybe in the shed," he said, "in the bucket with the toys."  We had done a big clean-out of the garage, and some items were yet to be put away.  Thinking back, it's kind of funny that Adam didn't ask what I was doing.  I don't usually need an air pump in the evenings.  Not for cooking dinner, for general cleaning, or even for a late night mani/pedi . . . 

I went to the shed, and found lots of balls, Frisbees, swim noodles, and pool toys, and finally, at the bottom of the bucket, the purple plastic air pump.  But it had no needle, and looking around the shed, with its assortment of toys, bikes, mulch and bags of outgrown clothes, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to find a stray needle.  I felt around in the bottom of the bucket to see if it had dropped, and looked around the shed for a while, but finally took the pump and went back to the house.

"Find it?"  Adam looked up from his game with Sam.

"Yep, but no needle."  

"Hmm," he looked thoughtful for a minute.  I was thinking, too.  

"I really thought I had a pack of extra needles," I said.  It was now becoming a bit of a "thing." 

"I wish I knew," he said.

"Maybe in the laundry room," I said, going back to look.  I searched the shelves and the basket of "found things" from the laundry.  Nope.  In the mitten and glove bin?  Nope.

I know!  Kitchen junk drawer!  No luck. 

Basement!  I recalled last fall when I was on a bit of a work-out kick with my big giant aqua ball, I kept the air pump downstairs, so I could keep the ball inflated just the way I liked it.  I remember hiding the pump on the top shelf in the basement storage room, where I would kick the ball (in frustration or when not in use) so I could find it later.  I flipped on the light and began feeling along the tops of the shelf for a stray needle or an old pump.  I found lots and lots of dust, Christmas wrap, and a Barbie, but no needle.  I then did the entire circuit again-  looking in the shed, the garage, the garage shelves, and the basement shelves, before I finally gave up and wrote "needles" on my To-Do list.  And don't kid yourselves —I actually tried to blow the balls up using the pump with NO needle.  It didn't really work very well, and in fact, just resulted in me slamming my wrist against the side of the ping-pong table when the ball rolled out from under the pump that was. . . um . . . pushed against the air hole.   I searched the basement shelves a third time, and called it a day.

Just a very short while later, I was on to other things, needles and basketballs almost forgotten.  I was carrying an empty laundry basket back down to the laundry room, and as I entered the small room, I stopped in the doorway.  There, lying in the middle of the floor, all by itself, was one air-pump needle.  

It's a short little story about three tiny basketballs that needed air, and a found needle that allowed it to happen after all.  The end.  Right?  Right. . .  except, seeing that needle made my heart skip in a weird way.  I had walked through the space at least ten times in the course of the evening, back and forth to the shed, the garage, the basement, and there had been no needle.  I had searched high and low for one tiny item in a haystack-of-a-house to no avail, and yet here, when I was no longer searching, it was right before my very eyes.  

Later, I would wonder if that needle was on the air pump when I picked it up, if it fell off the pump, stuck to my shirt, and fell off into the laundry room.  But I know I picked that pump right out of the bucket with no needle.  I watched it happen.  

I prefer to believe that the needle was given to me.  Since finding my needle, there are words that continue to circle in my head, and though I'm not really sure if I'm hearing them clearly, they're along the lines of:   

I think I need to look for something bigger.  Just imagine what I could find. . .