Missing Fork, Missing Mind

I'm a believer in matching silverware. Some folks can pull off the eclectic blend of mismatched pieces with ease, but when we have guests, I even want to make sure each place setting has the same size fork from the same style. I rarely put out the full 5-piece set during family meals, as I think seven times out of ten just a fork and knife will do. After our wedding, my husband and I filled out our own registry with eight place settings. It was quite a big decision picking out plain white stoneware plates and the flatware that felt balanced in the hand and was visually pleasing.

Within a couple months, many of our plates and bowls had chipped, and one bowl was tossed a couple years later, which really angered me considering the price we'd paid for the mid-range dinnerware - and we no longer had eight complete sets. It wasn't fancy China, in which case I wouldn't be using the dishwasher, but the label said dishwasher, microwave, and maybe even oven-safe. I looked at replacements online, but just couldn't bring myself to fully indulge in my vain preoccupation the airs of dinner presentation. Joe and I agreed that the next purchase of dinnerware will probably involve a 40 piece box from Target. Now that I have a pottery wheel and kiln, I really ought to make my own set of imperfect yet artsy and personal plates and bowls.

I remember mom and dad going through the plate fiasco about the time I was in middle school. They replaced all their brown rimmed late 70's set with some lipped stoneware that chipped to pieces in the dishware, and later replaced it all by something in the vane of Corelle which was lightweight, easily replaceable and nearly indestructible - and they bough tons of it. I'm sure for both of us, the stoneware chipping had to do with loading and unloading the dishwasher. You know what, that's always going to be a little noisy and clank-clumsy, because I don't think anyone really enjoys doing dishes, even with the modern convenience of the dishwasher.

All this brings me to my biannual count of the flatware. I'm missing a dinner fork, and hey diddle diddle, I think my mind ran away with it. I'm just about the pull out the couch from the wall and take a flashlight to the base of the oven to locate the fork. And yes, I've already priced out replacements online. My flawed and materialistically-diseased heart knows it's just a fork and no fork deserves this much thought, but I have that glitch in my brain that until that fork is found, will assess every object in house and label it "FORK" or "NOT A FORK".