Matching Tracksuits

Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever goes more than a few days without something somewhere breaking. Usually it’s small things that we can almost ignore, I think, but the medium and large issues seem to cluster up and hit all at once.

K’s car required some work (issue 1), so yesterday I drove it to our Polish friend who’s also a mechanic. He lives in the north of the county, right off the rails-to-trail project that runs through the county, so I usually drive the car up there and ride my bike back.

But issues never come alone: they always bring company. On the way back, I got a flat (issue 2). In the same tire that I’d just repaired. Or didn’t repair — what’s the difference?

But issues never come alone: they always bring company. The ramp to Papa’s room (it will always be “Papa’s room”) needs to be repainted (issue 3), which means it needs to be cleaned, which E remedied this morning. Upon returning home from Lowe’s with the appropriate paint, I noticed a bit of wood sticking up from one of the knot holes. I bent down and dug it out with my finger only to discover that the entire knot hole had somehow rotted out.

Which meant I had to get a new 1×6 to replace it. Which meant a trip to Lowe’s. Which is where we had just been.

Fixing the board was one of those projects for which the prep and cleanup took longer than the actual project.

But issues never come alone: they always bring company. While I working on this, L returned and informed me that her car stalled three times while driving home.

“And there’s a weird emoji on the dash,” she said.

“Probably the ‘check engine’ light,” I thought.

I checked; indeed, I was right. I cranked the car. It started stalling immediately. It was as if it weren’t getting enough fuel. Fuel pump? Clogged fuel filter? Not sure — and of course I couldn’t find the error reader that would have given me a little more information on the nebulous “check engine” light.

There are some projects that just seem to grow as you get into them.

Our kitchen remodel almost ten years ago (has it been that long?) was just such a project. We unexpectedly had to rebuild an entire part of the exterior wall when we discovered the door header stopped midway through the door. We had to build two supports in the crawlspace to deal with a sagging floor in the dining area. It just grew and grew and grew.

Our latest landscaping adventure was not such a project. I knew just how much work would be involved. I knew there would likely be no real surprises. But I also knew just how much backache-producing work it would involve. First, we had to get rid of those holly bushes. That took a good long time: hollies very aggressively cling to their perch on life, and they will resprout from the slightest bit of root left behind. So getting rid of the main holly trunks was only part of the process: E and I also spent a day digging out roots. And we didn’t even get them all. Several large roots went so deep into the ground that we knew we could never get them out, so we made fresh cuts, drilled holes into them, and slathered root killer on them. All that was step one.

Step two: build a new landscaping border around the area. This took a couple of days and a couple of trips to Home Depot, but today, we finished it.

Tonight, we went back to get the components for part three — at least some of them.

Are blueberries and the jasmine on the slope behind them are locked in eternal conflict. The jasmine is the aggressor, continually trying to climb the blueberries, and the blueberries just want to be left alone. Today was the day to intervene. 

I’m currently reading Alan Rusbridger’s Play It Again : An Amateur Against the Impossible. It’s about his attempt as an amateur pianist to tackle Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 in G Minor — one of the most impressively challenging pieces in the canon.

I’ve been quasi-obsessed with Chopin’s Ballades for a long time, and while I’ll grudgingly admit that No. 4 is the superior of the four, No. 1 will always be my favorite. And I love it for the reason all who play it love at and fear it: the terrifying coda, marked Presto con fuoco. For non-Italian speakers or people who never to music lessons to learn all those Italian terms:

• Presto: “very fast”
• Con fuoco: “with fire”

To say it’s impressive is an understatement.

Those leaps the left hand has to make; those whatever-the-hell-they-are right hand furies starting at bar 216 (Garrick Ohlsson calls them “wiggles” — if only); that double scale separated not by an octave but by a tenth at bar 255. How can anyone do that?

I took enough piano that I can follow the score and point to where the music is (in other words, I could turn the pages for someone playing this), and that means I know just enough about piano to realize how impossible this piece is. And yet people learn it all the time. “I played it when I was 17 and…” one person explained in a video. “It’s devilishly tricky,” a professional might say. No — it’s impossible. How anyone does it is beyond me.

Alan Rusbridger accomplished it (or least I’m assuming he did — he wrote the book about the attempt) while serving as the editor of the Guardian, which, according to Rusbridger, was publishing around 200,000 words a day when he was working on the Ballade. He was working 60-80 hours a week, coordinating the WikiLeaks articles, getting 60-80 emails an hour by his own estimation, staying up until the wee-hours several nights a week — and somehow he found the time to tackle this ridiculously challenging piece.

In short, Rusbridger’s accomplishment leads us to wonder what we do with our own little spare bits of time here and there. To be able even to stumble through the Ballade would require the average amateur hours upon hours of practice. Where do we get those hours?

I spent some of my free time tonight reading Rusbridger’s book, for example; I’m spending time now writing this. K has started tinkering on the piano, using L’s old books. The Boy — we have to pull him off Fortnight. The Girl — reading, phone, movies, chatting/texting with friends. But the amount of time most of us in the West waste is astonishing. The only thing we can’t get back, and we waste so much of it.