Andy Young: Where do missing items go?

By Andy Young

I’ve lived just 10 hours of my life in Oregon, but two of them, which I spent having lunch with a friend in his hometown of Yachats, were so enjoyable that before leaving I purchased a cloth shopping bag with the town’s name emblazoned on it. Such washable carryalls are useful mementos, since they can serve as reliable containers of groceries, towels, or any reasonably-sized items that need transporting from one location to another.

I never leave home without a cloth shopping bag. There are several in my car, and whenever I go biking, I’ve got one in my backpack. I even take one when venturing out on foot, just in case I’m feeling public-spirited and decide to pick up some not-too-icky trash while I’m nature-walking.

No two of my cloth totes are alike. Several bear the name of a grocery store. Others are souvenirs from places I’ve visited. One features the logo of the Hardware City Rock Cats, a defunct minor league baseball team. The one from Seattle’s Pike Place Market features a mini-pocket that my niece sewed onto it to cover an unsightly hole. The big blue one came from UMaine-Presque Isle. Each of those bags conjures a pleasant memory.

I’m still grieving over a particular missing one, though.

This past summer my son and I spent two magical weeks exploring Newfoundland. When we got to Cape Spear, North America’s easternmost point, I instructed my offspring/companion to take a photo of me prominently displaying the Yachats bag as we were taking a hike overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The picture he took that sunny morning came out beautifully, so I texted it off to my Oregon connection. Mission Accomplished!

But tragically, only two of the trio that went to Newfoundland returned to Maine after our idyllic and unforgettable adventures. How, when, and where the cloth Yachats tote bag got separated from us is something I’m afraid I'll never know.

I’ve probably lost hundreds of items over the years, although my inability to remember most of them likely indicates that in the grand scheme of things they probably weren't all that important after all.

The only other loss of something tangible that I’ve never quite gotten over was a high school soccer jacket with my name stitched on it. My coaching mentor gifted me with it, either as a reward for my serving as his loyal assistant for several years, or because he figured out that I was too cheap to buy one for myself. The jacket instantly became the featured outerwear item in my sartorial ensemble; I sported it proudly everywhere I went. I donned it one frosty morning in 1989 prior to boarding a plane for a cross-country flight, taking it off at midday after reaching the west coast, where it was far warmer.

Several hours later when the bus I was riding to northern California started getting chilly, I decided to put my jacket back on. The problem: I couldn’t locate it. After a few moments of frenzied panic, I came to a sickening realization: I’d neglected to pick up my first and only personalized coaching jacket from wherever I’d absentmindedly put it down somewhere at the San Francisco airport.

Hopefully the black jacket with “Coach Young” embroidered just above the soccer ball on the left breast is still out there making someone’s life a little bit better. I’d like to think it’s keeping a needy San Franciscan who shops at Goodwill warm at night.

But I’d be even happier if the individual wearing it were carrying their modest belongings inside a cloth bag with “Yachats, Oregon” printed on it. <