My Plus Ones

Music Meme, Day 25

A song in a different language:

Oh, come on! Damn near every song I love lately is in a different language! 

Takes deep breaths to calm down

I will take this as a challenge, however. Let's try to find something that isn't in Korean or Korean and English. I don't know if I can - 

Oh. OK. I found one; I remembered it. And it's one I love. 

"Waters of March" by Antonio Carlos Jobim (also known, although I didn't know this until today, as Tom Jobim) is a bossa nova favorite of mine, partly because of the simple yet sophisticated music and the very striking English words - a litany of good and bad things that come together in the end to be about "the joy in your heart" after all those good and sometimes very bad things. 

Mice. More Mice, Damnit.

The headline says it all. 

I got up at 5:15 a.m. in order to watch the first BTS concert since all seven of the members got out of the military.  Their last concert was four years ago, and they played this free event at Gwanghwamun Square in central Seoul, which is seen as the city's spiritual heart and most prominent gathering space. Thousands of fans watched in person, and millions more watched via Netflix, which is what I did. 

The concert was short, just an hour long; they performed every song on their new album "Arirang" and about four of their earlier most popular songs. They really are a mesmerizing group to watch in full flight, although I was forced to wonder about bad omens; their leader, Kim Nam Joon (stage name RM) badly hurt an ankle during rehearsals, and had to spend much of the concert performing on a stool. 

ARMY didn't mind, and perhaps the joy I saw reflected in the faces of fans watching did, as the young men told those fans, power everything that was happening on stage. With that kind of support, perhaps an injured ankle will be of little import. 

I enjoyed the concert and was about to get up and get my second cup of coffee when I discovered that, having successfully mouse-proofed the south larder closet in our office, the  little monsters fellas had decided that they could come in from the north side larder, closest to our furnace room (which isn't really a room, it's a tiny closet where the furnace is placed, but we call it a room, so there you go).

How do I know? Carter, who's been acting very "I know there are mousies there" for the past day or so, abruptly tried to push his head under the base of one of the northern larders shelving units. As I prepared to look under the shelving unit myself, a tiny grey blur shot out between Carter and me, and disappeared somewhere in the wilds of the office, or perhaps out the office door and into the rest of the house.

At this point, after the initial confrontation, during which I shrieked almost loud and high enough to crack glass, all I could do was shake my head and laugh. Just a tiny laugh, mind you, but what else could I do? Beyond the inevitable cleaning job, I mean.

It's frustrating. Nearly every foodstuff we have in both the north and south larders has been stored in hard plastic bins now, but they will apparently try to feast on anything I hadn't yet gotten into said bins. They also tried to feed on the plastic surrounding some artwork that's in the north larder because there's no room for them elsewhere.

They haven't made too much of a mess, so I can only assume they just discovered the new route over the past couple of days. Cue tremendous sighs, and a wish that I could wave a wand and keep them out for good. I keep a clean place, people, and yet here they are. 

By the end of today, Bob and I had visited one of our favorite hardware stores to get mouse shield foam and yet more steel wool. We've been there so often, at least a few of cashiers can kibbutz with us as they ring us up.

While I was out getting some more plastic storage containers at yet another of our favorite hardware stores, Bob deployed the foam and steel wool all around the furnace, after I'd vacuumed out far too much dust in the cubby. I really do keep a clean house; the problem is that I forget about the furnace cubby. So at least I can thank the mice for reminding me that I need to regularly vacuum around the furnace. 

Positivity, that's the name of the game.

But I'm still looking around for that little grey blur; I just know he or she is lurking somewhere, preparing to scare the living bejesus out of me again.