Some things in life just don't make any sense. Today's stumper for me is the mystery of the mismatched lids-and-containers.
How is it that when they get washed and put on a shelf, top and bottom are intact, but when I go to tidy their chaos, more than half of them are loners?
I haven't heard any arguments coming from their shelf, so I can't blame this disconnect on domestic discord or messy divorces. As for my question at the top of this page, some may recognize it from the film version of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. However it is that this disconnect occurs, I'll admit to being puzzled. After all, I don't think anyone's been sneaking into the laundry room and stealing lonesome bits of plastic for the re-use phase of recycling. If they are, I wish they'd take the lids to go with all those missing bottoms.
And while I'm not exactly saying that there's a black hole behind the washer (though who knows, maybe there is), if there is, maybe it's a companion to the one behind the dryer that keeps chomping down those singleton socks.
Warning: this is one of those blogs that goes all over the place. Poems, politics, gripes, praise. A little of everything from an avowed generalist.
Showing posts with label mysteries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mysteries. Show all posts
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Where it all began...
One hundred and fifteen years ago, Amelia Earhart was born in this room. No claims are made for this being the birthing bed, as the furniture in the Earhart house has mostly been replaced over the years. Still, standing in this room, with the sun shining in from the East, I suspect it might be quite a lot how it looked the day Amelia was born.
The window looks out over the Missouri River, a view that's mostly sky, a view I like to think might have inspired the young Amelia.
She spent much, though not all, of her growing-up time in this house, a home that's been converted to a museum in her honour. In the back yard, there's a re-creation of a wild-looking 'slide ride' she and her sister Pidge rigged up. So much for proper little turn-of-the-previous-century little ladies.
Today, Amelia is still in the news, as the TIGHAR research team has come to the end of its current search at the tiny island of Nikumaroro.
When my mother was dying, she told me that she was also interested in Amelia Earhart -- that she remembered as a little girl, listening to the radio at suppertime, for news of the famous woman flyer who was missing. So, I guess it's in my blood. Even when Amelia's gone from the radar of others, she'll remain one of my heroines, I am sure.
If you're quick about it, and click on Google today, you'll see that even they are observing Amelia's birthday.
The window looks out over the Missouri River, a view that's mostly sky, a view I like to think might have inspired the young Amelia.
She spent much, though not all, of her growing-up time in this house, a home that's been converted to a museum in her honour. In the back yard, there's a re-creation of a wild-looking 'slide ride' she and her sister Pidge rigged up. So much for proper little turn-of-the-previous-century little ladies.
Today, Amelia is still in the news, as the TIGHAR research team has come to the end of its current search at the tiny island of Nikumaroro.
When my mother was dying, she told me that she was also interested in Amelia Earhart -- that she remembered as a little girl, listening to the radio at suppertime, for news of the famous woman flyer who was missing. So, I guess it's in my blood. Even when Amelia's gone from the radar of others, she'll remain one of my heroines, I am sure.
If you're quick about it, and click on Google today, you'll see that even they are observing Amelia's birthday.
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