TheBanyanTree: one more CORRECTION

Wed Sep 6 05:09:13 PDT 2023

I would just like to go on the record to let you know that I was way too
caught up in the reading of your mystery, hanging on every word to find out
where you found these things, and I didn't even pay attention to the
typos!!  I read what you were saying, not what you typed!!!  hahaha!!!

p.s... please let us know if the sheet ever turns up!!!

On Tue, Sep 5, 2023 at 4:21 PM tobie--- via TheBanyanTree <
thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com> wrote:

> Lord help me.
>
>         It should be……. "Moms find things" not "Mom’s find things."
>
>         I am not possessive.
>
> We can’t keep meeting like this.
>
> Tobie
>
> > On Sep 5, 2023, at 1:06 PM, tobie--- via TheBanyanTree <
> thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com> wrote:
> >
> > It should read, "unwrapped the parts" plural.
> >
> > Of course spell check didn’t find it. But I didn’t either upon rereading.
> >
> >
> >
> >> On Sep 5, 2023, at 12:49 PM, tobie--- via TheBanyanTree <
> thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com> wrote:
> >>
> >> Hello Tree Dwellers,
> >>
> >>      A few months ago a shirt went missing. I knew it was someplace
> because, well, where could it go? I never wear it out of the house. I wear
> it to bed. It was the mauve one not the ochre one of the two in one from
> Costco. Sturdy, simple, wore it to bed over pajama bottoms. I never wore
> the ochre one because I look awful in orange of any shade. Besides I just
> didn’t like it. But the purplish mauve was just  fine. It let me sleep. An
> ochre one would have awakened me during the night, especially during the
> Trump administration.  I threw it in the wash with other things in my
> hamper, then threw it in the drier with the same  group. When it was all
> dry, I put it in the laundry basket and started folding. The shirt wasn’t
> there. It had vanished. Everything else was in that basket except the
> shirt. I’m a mom. Mom’s find things.
> >>
> >>      "I can’t find my term paper! Mom!"
> >>
> >>      give it a beat
> >>
> >>      "How did you find that?"
> >>
> >>      "It was right under the papers on top of the pile."
> >>
> >>      The shirt was no where. Not still stuck to the inside of the
> washer. Not put in Meyshe’s drawers by accident. Not dropped on the floor
> en route. Not misplaced among the bedsheets. Not adhered via static
> electricity to another item. No? Then you hit the next tier. Not in the
> drawer with the cloth napkins, not dragged into a corner by the cat. Not
> outside being used as a garden rag if Meyshe couldn’t tell the difference.
> Okay. Not in the car. The last time it was in the car was when I brought it
> home from Costco and it was still in the package. Getting desperate are we?
> Not  somehow stuffed down the garbage disposal. Not being used as a mouse
> pad. Not in the refrigerator or freezer. Not stewing on the stove.
> >>
> >>      You get the mood.
> >>
> >>      I am not good at giving up. Proof is that I’m still here after
> luck splattered over the whole good/horrible axis has pelted me all my
> life. But I gave up on the shirt. It was relegated to the massive
> extraterrestrial landfill of missing one damn socks that is floating out
> there in some numbered galaxy (so obscure it doesn’t even have a name).
> Many many years ago I thought I’d solved the one damn sock mystery when I
> got a look at Frank Zappa’s. He had his feet up on the recording booth
> console and, my dears, they were special. Special and unmatched. But I was
> wrong.  He could only have been responsible for a small fraction of the
> vast world of missing one socks. He was mortal.
> >>
> >>      The shirt showed up two months after it had gone missing. It had
> migrated on its own power to a spare bedroom that Meyshe uses for lifting
> weights. I’d actually looked in that room several times. But that was
> evidently before the resurrection or exhumation, depending upon the
> holiness of the garment in question.
> >>
> >>      Yesterday, my mother’s dining room table was delivered by the
> furniture restorer. It’s a mid century mahogany set with four leaves that
> extend it to seat twelve. My mother had the table top covered in imitation
> blond wood formica, not pretty but practical. She saw three hyperactive
> kids tearing up the house as young children and foresaw the damage they
> would soon be doing to the table top with their homework and obliviousness:
> protractors poking holes, ink, paint, solvents, chemical spills, hot pots
> set down without trivets, glasses of liquids left on the table to bleach
> the finish with condensation of fluids. I don’t remember ever seeing that
> table without the formica. After my mother died, I was the only sibling who
> had no dining table and anyway, no one else wanted it. I’d always wanted to
> restore it. So here it was, returned to its infant purity. They brought it
> wrapped in moving blankets. They unwrapped the part, tossed the blankets on
> the floor, then assembled the table. My first thought, honestly, was,
> "Thank God we finally have a surface to fold laundry on." Sorry Mom.
> >>
> >>      And that’s the first thing we did. Meyshe had brought down the
> laundry basket before the table arrived, so we started to fold.  There was
> one purple bath sheet missing. I’d put two bath sheets in the washer,
> transferred two bath sheets to the drier and Meyshe had unloaded the drier
> to bring it all downstairs to fold. Some where or some time, one enormous
> purple bath sheet had vanished. Now, a shirt could easily get lost. A sock,
> absolutely, nearly mandatory with every wash. But a whole 40" X 72"
> intensely purple bath sheet? How could it hop away? It was not in the
> washer stuck to the drum. It was not in the drier. It had not fallen out of
> the basket in transport. It had not been taken out preemptively, folded and
> put away in the drawer where it should be. Not misplaced in Meyshe’s
> bathroom. Not still in the hamper which of course I knew because I put both
> towels in the washer and both in the drier. It had not somehow slipped
> behind the drier, which would mean it passed through a large box of rags
> like a ghost. Not in the drawer with the cloth napkins. Not mistaken for a
> tablecloth and put in with the others. Not in the spare bedroom with the
> weights. Not under, over or next to any bed. Not in the yard as a garden
> rag. Nowhere. Forty by seventy two inches of blazingly purple bath sheet,
> erased from existence without a trace. Of course that’s not true. It
> exists. It exists where we haven’t looked, or it’s hiding in plain sight,
> like I do at a party.
> >>
> >>      Meyshe and I were pondering the mystery of matter, anti matter and
> doesn’t matter as we looked out over the beautiful young top of the dining
> table. He said, "Maybe one of the workers accidentally took it."  He likely
> meant "steal" but the concept could have been right. I called the furniture
> restorer.
> >>
> >>      "Hi Rick. Could you go check and see if there's a large purple
> bath sheet mixed up in the moving blankets you took back when you left?"
> >>
> >>      I had great hopes for this. For one, it could easily have
> happened. For two, it would restore my sanity. Things don’t just disappear.
> We tell our children that when they’re distraught and can’t find something.
> But no one was telling me. I’m too old for that shit.
> >>
> >>      Rick got back on the phone.
> >>
> >>      "Nope. Not here."
> >>
> >>      There is something I can do to force the bath sheet to come out of
> hiding. I can go buy a new one. It is not uncommon that after a couple
> who's given up trying to conceive adopts a baby, the woman finally gets
> pregnant. That could be a myth, a curiosity based on nothing. But Frank
> Zappa is dead and that distant numbered galaxy is not accepting towels of
> this size. I am  not good at giving up.
> >>
> >>
> >> Hats off to you if you made it through the whole post. You evidently
> don’t like giving up either.
> >>
> >> Love
> >>
> >> Tobie
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> I truly believe that there will be a time when the cat people and the
> dog people agree on a two-state solution.        THS  2014
> >>
> >> Tobie Shapiro
> >> mailto:tobie at shpilchas.net
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> Need to change your name, email address, or password? Or have you
> forgotten your password? Go here:
> http://lists.remsset.com/listinfo.cgi/thebanyantree-remsset.com
> >
> > At my first meeting of the faculty wives club of the University of
> California at Berkeley way back pre post feminism:
> >
> > Other wife looking at my name tag: Hello.  What does your husband do?
> >
> > I: I’m a musician.
> >
> > Other wife:  No.  I asked, "what does your husband do?"
> >
> > I:  He married a musician.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > Tobie Helene Shapiro
> > tobie at shpilchas.net <mailto:tobie at shpilchas.net>
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > Need to change your name, email address, or password? Or have you
> forgotten your password? Go here:
> http://lists.remsset.com/listinfo.cgi/thebanyantree-remsset.com
>
> If you want to know someone, pay attention to the way they roast their
> marshmallows
>
> THS
>
>
> Tobie Shapiro
> mailto:tobie at shpilchas.net
>
>
>
>
>
>
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>