Trina Machacek: Mountains and Muhammad

There is a saying that came up in conversation a few times since I began to talk. Something about if Muhammad  won’t come to the mountains, you must bring the mountain to Muhammad. OK, it may be the other way around.

Bringing, taking, sliding mounds of mountains to different places at different times. It sometimes gets to be so overwhelming. Perhaps that’s the whole meaning of the saying. No matter which way you say it. It is sometimes all overwhelming.

As we, yes, we all, gather more silvery lines under our hats, there is a distinct slide of more times that we want to admit, that we all go into the kitchen and forget why we were going in there. Hopefully though, we shall never have that problem when we find ourselves standing in the middle of a bathroom.

See, there are the little nuggets of good news each day. What is this leading up to? Well, here is the whole sordid story. I have a favorite sweatshirt. There have been many sweatshirts that have come into my life.

But! Yes, a sweaty “but.” The only ones that I have had to let go of are the ones that I didn’t buy in a big enough size to grow with me through my ever-expanding life. I have come to realize that this is true: “Bigger really is better.” And “Yes, size matters!”

But let’s move along. My favorite sweatshirt is, well let me just say, it is older than dirt. It is kinda out of shape and it has seen many better days. At least it isn’t covered with greasy spots from melted butter that has dripped off my bagel, like most of my T-shirt pajamas are. It’s nothing earth shattering or not even from an event.

Oh, I have Hot August Nights things from the first year that Nevada August Nights became HOT! No, this baby is my favorite color, light gray with little speckles in it, and has a line printed on it in Greek that says something like, “Life. It’s All Greek To Me.”

Not only does the fit, fit me, but the saying fits me, too. I bought it out of one of those funny little catalogs we all used to get in the mail. Probably at least a quarter of a century ago. For those who are counting, about 25 or more years ago.

Suddenly that shirt, that one that I go to put on when the mornings or evenings are just a bit cool to need an extra layer, it disappeared. On a quick side note. When did it become more prevalent to say something or someone has “gone missing?”

What happened to they, or it, have or has turned up missing? Am I the only person that feels that is just wrong to say someone has “gone missing?” Does it rub anyone else wrong too? Just saying… Let’s move along — before I turn up missing.

Well, my favorite Greek sweatshirt just disappeared. Vanished. Poof and it was gone. Now I am not the same person I was long ago that would leave my mittens on the playground or leave my shoes on the beach. I don’t have a ton of clothes to spare.

So, when something isn’t in its designated spot on the closet shelf, I notice. I looked for it. I checked to see if maybe for some crazy reason I hung it up instead of stuffing it on the shelf. I did a quick inventory of my other too much-loved sweatshirts.

Had the one that touts I play in the dirt. Check. The one that informs readers, “Don’t rush me. I am waiting for the last minute.” Check. The one that in huge black letters states, “DON’T QUIT YOUR DAYDREAM.” Check. But ol’ Greek — poof.

Of course I checked the dirty clothes hamper. It was empty. Under the bed, in the bathroom. Nope and nope. Pretty sure I didn’t come home anytime recently not wearing my clothes. YIKERS! Then a lightbulb moment.

You know like when you are standing in the middle of the kitchen, and you realize why you are there. Because you were on your way to – get the clothes out of the dryer. Yes. Checked the dryer and there was Old Greek. Been in there a few days with some towels.

Why, oh why is it that the last load that is moved from the washer to the dryer, more often than not, gets left in the dryer? It’s another life mystery. Like why I started this story talking about mountains and Muhammad.

Now to move on to figure out why I seem to think I can change the channels on my TV with my phone. Why isn’t there an app for that?

Trina Machacek lives in Diamond Valley north of Eureka. Email itybytrina@yahoo.com.