Tag: Smelling the roses

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Ya know… Sometimes I can’t catch a break!

Doing laundry, you’d think would be a straightforward and simple task.

Laundry bottle.jpg.HA!  You’d be WRONG!

In a Rube Goldberg series of events. I found myself reaching down into the abyss behind the washing machine. Why? To retrieve my laundry detergent of course!

How did my laundry detergent end up behind the washing machine? Oh let me tell you a story but you’re not going to believe it. I was standing right there, watched the whole thing, and I couldn’t believe it. Although what I saw lends credence to one of two theories I’ve had for quite some time.

The Theories are: 1, God hates me. 2, we are living in a simulation and there are times when the simulation glitches.

I’d just moved wet clothes to the dryer, put some dirty clothes into the washer, and reached for the laundry soap. It’s a mid sized bottle of liquid and is mostly full so it’s got some weight to it.

Somehow my hand connected with the handle of the bottle, slipped off, knocked the bottle sideways, where it bounced, skidded directly to the back of the washing machine, then righted itself, & slipped like bugs bunny into the impossibly narrow gap between the wall and the washing machine. 

The only thing it didn’t do was make the silly “Zip” noise as it disappeared into the abyss. It did however make a good “Thump” as it hit the floor behind the washer.

I understand kinetics and weird physics. I also understand that all energy degrades toward a zero state. Somehow, the bottle of detergent instead of bleeding energy towards stillness, looked like it was pulling energy from space time in some bizarre way.

I wonder if unbeknownst to me, the odd sock wormhole was open behind the washer or dryer at the time?

For a moment I honestly considered leaving the bottle right where it ended up, and going to the grocery store for a new bottle.

It wasn’t so much laziness as wondering if the bottle was somehow cursed. I decided ironically “Cursed be damned” and set about retrieving the bottle.

Alas, like the T-Rex my arms were too short to just reach the bottle and hoist it up. I was however able to barely get my fingertips around the very top of the bottle, but could not get a good enough grip on the slick plastic to lift the weight. In other words, just enough to tease me.

Reaching into my Primate Heritage I started swearing and looking around for a tool. My Marine & Navy buddies would be proud of my creative use of language to describe anatomical impossibilities.

I’d probably lose some points for swearing like that at an inanimate object. Although, had the bottle winked out of existence I’d have been fine with that too.

After several minutes with a hanger, and a pair of pliers I crawled back on top of the washer. I wedged myself back between the washer and the cabinets above it, only to have to un-wedge myself seconds later because somehow I’d managed to start the wash cycle. 

2nd attempt I discovered that the hanger would have to be folded twice to give me the strength needed for it to life the bottle without bending the hook I’d made to a straight rod.

3rd attempt becoming a contortionist I was able to hook the bottle and lift it about 6 inches, then I discovered that impossibly, the bottle was too thick to be raised any further. There is no way that the darn thing should have been able to fall all the way to the floor in the first place.

Hmmm, “God Hates me, and we live in a glitchy simulation?”

After more creative casting of curses I came upon a plan. The hanger lifting the bottle 6 inches meant that I could get my hand on the handle of the bottle and perhaps snatch that bad boy out of the abyss and back into reality.

But only if I found a way to try the hanger around something. A cabinet handle worked, the scratches on the wood can be repaired. I was successful! My laundry soap is now in this reality again, as is my missing microfiber car washing mitt.

You might have found yourself wondering why I didn’t just pull the washer away from the wall.

Valid point!

Here’s why. To do so, I’d have to remove the doors to the laundry closet, then slide the washer through a narrow opening and possibly I’d have to pull the dryer out too. In other words… 

That would have been at least a 1 hour project, since all 6 hinges on the doors would have to be removed. All I wanted to do was pour the detergent into the washer and press “Start”.

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Oh WOW! I’ll never do that again!

What you might ask???

Yesterday, I dished out the last of some cottage cheese onto my plate for lunch. There were a few curds and milk still in the container.

I enjoy watching Jesse’s problem solving tactics, so I gave him the container knowing full well that I might end up cleaning a mess from the kitchen floor. I didn’t, Jesse almost immediately turned the container on its side then held it still with one paw while he licked the sides and bottom of the container.

I was amused but somewhat disappointed that he figured the puzzle out so quickly. I guess his time on the streets taught him a few tricks.

The problem came after lunch. One hour after lunch to be exact.

Jesse got the nastiest paint pealing farts ever! OMG! He was lying on the floor in front of me then let loose with a silent but deadly…

He had the audacity to look at me as if I was responsible. I told him, “No that wasn’t me.” He sniffed his butt and the heartbreak of the truth was written all over his face. He gathered what dignity he had left and walked out onto the deck.

The farts followed him and really harshed his buzz.

On his afternoon walk 4 hours later he was still laying eye watering gas attacks. At this point we could fly to Israel and volunteer to clear tunnels.

Honestly, I could feed him a tub of cottage cheese and just let him stand at the entrance to Hamas tunnels. They’d clear out in minutes.

I suppose that would be against the Geneva convention. Isn’t there some prohibition against gas and / or biological attacks?

Thank goodness we don’t have wallpaper in the house. It would have been pealing.

He was okay, but no dairy for him, other than occasional yogurt licks.

On the one hand I felt a bit sorry for him. His poos were solid so his stomach wasn’t upset or anything. He’s just had really nasty gas.

I discovered that It’s hard for me to tell him I love him when I’m gagging from another silent but deadly attack.

I hope your day was better than ours.

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Wow! The other half had a lot of musical scores in digital format.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a filing system for either Paper or Digital scores.

Screenshot 2023 09 30 at 7 29 50 AM

I’ve been trying to collect up all the music (Digital and Paper), and sort it with the intention of making sure that it got to the people that could use it and who would appreciate the effort.

I’m using a 32GB thumb drive now and unlike previous attempts will hopefully not run out of space.

I’ve also been finding a lot of duplications. I suspect that is in part due to the lack of a filing system and in part it might be further evidence that he’d been “off” for a while and was doing a damn fine job of hiding that fact from me.

No, I’m not angry about it. I’m just a little sad. He did his life, his way, as do I. We called “Shotgun” on each other’s journey through life and rode together for a long time. It’s cool, even if I am a little sad about the way things went from time to time.

As an aside, I have no clue how music is supposed to be catalogued, or indexed, or anything else.

I’m just doing what seems “Right” with the music much the same way I’ve done with every other curveball that’s come my way over the past 10 months.

In addition to the actual musical scores, some of which are only identifiable by opening them. (I’m fixing that slowly but surely.) I’ve also run into actual recordings where he was playing and recording into GarageBand either via a MIDI connection or he was using a microphone. Hearing him play has been somewhat jarring because I recognize his style and technique. It’s okay, but I’m still prone to crying over stuff like that, because the memories of him practicing a particular piece come flooding back. 

I’ll be a little sad over not being annoyed and hiding out in the office as he played the same measure over and over again trying to get it just right. In a way it was like RAP with Classical music!

I hate RAP!

As I typed that, I was smiling through misty eyes.

I’m sorting the music as best I can. If something has Hebrew characters in it, then it’s obviously going into the Jewish music folder. If it’s written in Russian It’s probably a fair bet that too is going to be Jewish Music. That is also true of German and Spanish.

I’m so out of my depth!

I’ve been looking for keywords in the scores. If I find anything that is recognizably Hebrew or Yiddish I know where to file it.

Christian music is a little easier because there I only have to scan for “Jesus” or Holy Ghost or Father, Son and Holy Spirt. You don’t find those kinds of references in Jewish Music.

Things start to get dicy when there are no lyrics, only the musical notation. If the title isn’t obvious, then I’m in a bit of trouble. 

If I can sound it out and recognize the roots or the rhythm of the piece  then I’ve got a shot at getting it in the right place. Some music is instantly recognizable as Jewish when you hear it.

I recognize the names of many classical pieces, or at least the composer so those scores go into the Classical Folder.

But wait! There’s more…

The harp music, the organ music, the piano, harpsichord, and even accordion music is all in one big assed digital pile.

For him, this presented no problem. He’d open an arrangement and know exactly what instrument it was for just by looking. Hell, I think sometimes he didn’t care what the score said the instrument was supposed to be. I think he’d just figure it out on the fly. That’s what a classically trained musician can do. It’s a skill built up over a lifetime and it’s amazing to watch in action.

I’ve been trying to sort the Harp and keyboard music into separate folders. Some of the folks that will be looking at this are classically trained musicians, but others aren’t.  Some of the amateur choir members can carry a tune and read music, but I know the other half curated very carefully what he gave to the choir.

It wasn’t about him disrespecting them, it was about not wanting to frustrate them with super busy scores. Sometimes he’d sit down and manually do choir only notation as a new file that he’d print here. Then we’d assemble the choir books if he wanted or needed my help.

I was probably next to useless because I didn’t read music. But I could follow instructions, run the printer, punch holes in pages, and we’d be spending the time together.

I know I could just hand all of the over to “Real” musicians instead of a hack like me. One reason that I don’t is because also mixed in this big pile of musical scores are receipts, and medical evaluations, and all the usual documents that one accumulates. So I have to be the one that filters all of this stuff out. 

Some of the pieces of music where he’s actually playing are in Apple only formats. Not a problem for me… But the Synagogue and Church are Windows based. So I’m letting my super fast computer handle processing the music into something universally playable. That takes time. Not much in the way of computer time, but time listening to the various edits and editions to determine which one is most likely to be the “Final” version that he’d want distributed.

Perhaps I’m doing all of this as much for me, and the other half, as I am for the Synagogue and Church.

It’s tedious, and time consuming. But I’m hoping to construct something that he’d be proud of.