Heck Of A Guy

Da Boyz and I moved into our new digs yesterday, a transition which actually brought to light several mysteries.

For example, how is it that two months ago, all necessary preparations appeared in place for the three of us to become independently-housed individuals on leaving our previous home, yet when I awaken on D-Day+1, I gaze upon my two offspring (or dead-on duplicates placed here for unspecified reasons by an alien race), who seem to believe they share my new address?

A related mystery is the spectacular disappearance of Mesomorph’s residence he was to share with roommates, a location and plan both said to be rock solid less than two weeks ago at which time I rented our current abode, a house that would be a tad tight but serviceable for Prodigal and me. The day before the move, Mesomorph’s much alluded-to 3  bedroom townhouse, along with the two prospective roommates, dissipated before my eyes, a feat which has precisely the credibility if not the hype of a Doug Henning-level vanishing stunt,

The preceding mystery does at least explain the enigma of why the movers identified one room in the new place as the “office-exercise area-storage closet-futon room.”

Of course, the all-encompassing Curse of the Progeny explains all of the above and far, far more. It does not, however, provide a solution to …

The Riddle Of The Spontaneously Self-replenishing Bottles Of Hydrogen Peroxide

In the course of the move, I uncovered no less than nine bottles of hydrogen peroxide in various sizes, all of which had been opened and all of which were at least 90% full.

That seems like a lot of hydrogen peroxide, especially given that the last time I recall using that household chemical was to cleanse a wound caused by a bicycle accident I suffered at age 8 and that I am quite sure I have never personally purchased a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in my life.

Further, all 9 bottles were discovered within the master bedroom and bathroom area, rendering my fall-back hypothesis for all local weirdness - i.e., the kids did it - unlikely since they rarely trespass in that sanctified area.

I suppose Julie¹ bought them, although she was hardly the hoarding sort. And why hadn’t I noticed this vat of hydrogen peroxide before. And, why hoard hydrogen peroxide in any case?

Potential Explanations

I checked Wikipedia,for potential uses of hydrogen peroxide that  might, in turn, suggest the reasons we had somehow accumulated this lifetime supply of the stuff and found, among pages of possible ways hydrogen peroxide can be put into service, that

• Diluted H2O2 (around 15%) is used to bleach human hair, hence the phrase “peroxide blonde”.
• 3% H2O2 is effective at treating fresh (red) blood-stains in clothing and on other items. It must be applied to clothing before blood stains can be accidentally “set” with heated water. Cold water and soap are then used to remove the peroxide treated blood.
• The United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has classified hydrogen peroxide as a Low Regulatory Priority (LRP) drug for use in controlling fungus on fish and fish eggs.
• Some gardeners and users of hydroponics advocate the use of hydrogen peroxide in watering solutions. They claim that its spontaneous decomposition releases oxygen that enhances a plant’s root development and helps to treat root rot (cellular root death due to lack of oxygen).
• Laboratory tests conducted by fish culturists in recent years have demonstrated that common household hydrogen peroxide can be used safely to provide oxygen for small fish.
• Hydrogen peroxide is a strong oxidizer effective in controlling sulfide and organic related odors in wastewater collection and treatment systems.
• Mixed with baking soda and a small amount of hand soap, hydrogen peroxide is effective at removing skunk odor.
• Hydrogen peroxide is used with phenyl oxalate ester and an appropriate dye in glow sticks as an oxidizing agent.
• Hydrogen peroxide can be made to expand into a messy, massive foamy sort of sludge that apparently emits gases that stimulate raucous laughter in any victims downwind.

The answer became obvious once I found that high test hydrogen peroxide is used as a propellant in, for example, satellite thrusters and jet packs

Julie and Jet-packs - it’s a perfect fit.

Credit Due Department:

I found the marvelous photo atop this post at a site that didn’t credit its source (a favor I’ll return now) but did hot-link to it. That site was Mirage.Studio.7, a slick architectural blog, subtitled “Architecture is poetry,” which properly credits TESSELLAR,  a blog promoting “a new method of subdividing land for housing [that] produces better social, environmental and aesthetic outcomes, and in a way that also uses land more efficiently. In the series of blogs below, is an introduction to Tessellation Planning.”  Tessellar notes that the photo was taken by Rahmat Othman and accompanies an article in the New Straits Times, 15 August 2007, which explains, Farmer Abu Hassan Ahmad was so attached to his home; he decided to take the whole house with him when he had to move. ‘We had lived in the old site for more than 20 years, but now we want to be closer to my mother-in –law to take care of her.” The 56 year old farmer said several village elders got about 150 villagers to help with the big move.  Besides helping to carry the house half a kilometer to the new site, the villagers also took part in a “gotong-royong” (communal working together) to clear the land at the new location. It took an hour to move the house.²

The jet-pack photo is from Gizmodo and is part of a demo of an actual Hydrogen Peroxide-powered Jet Pack one can buy retail


Footnotes

1. Julie Showalter was my fiercely intelligent, wickedly sexy, and much beloved wife with whom I had a outrageously wonderful 20 year marriage that ended with her death in late 1999 from cancer diagnosed the week of our wedding. She was also a prize-winning author. Many posts on this blog are about her, our unlikely romance, and our life together, and still others consist of her writings. Information can be found at Julie Showalter FAQ.↩
2. For a comparable community effort, read about the miracle of the Le Mans extrication at The Great Ozark Folk Festival Flood of 1973: The Finale↩

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Our household is in full pre-move mode with boxes, tape, magic markers, and multiple lists overflowing every room.

In the process of rummaging through drawers and cabinets to determine which items are move-worthy and which are destined to become an accretion on our local Waste Management landfill, I came upon the cache of Julie’s¹ accessories and the pipe displayed above.

Most of Julie’s clothes, jewelry, and personal objects were given away long ago, and I don’t recall a single instance of her wearing any of the costume jewelry in that tray, some of which looks suspiciously like gifts from the kids during their preschool years. On the other hand, she was using that Coach wallet and the purse-sized day planner, its pockets filled with her then current insurance, social security, and credit cards, on an everyday basis before the final exacerbation of her cancer a few weeks before her death.

The antique pipe and case was her gift to me from the trip she took to England with a friend while I stayed home with the urchins.² Even she admitted the pipe was was an odd choice as “what did you bring me from your trip” present, but that makes it all the more significant to me.

I haven’t done any packing since I ran across this small lode of memories.

You’ve probably heard the bromide that love doesn’t end with the death of the loved one.

In any case, I can testify that it is incredibly, profoundly, intensely, painfully true.

Footnotes

1. Julie Showalter was my fiercely intelligent, wickedly sexy, and much beloved wife with whom I had a outrageously wonderful 20 year marriage that ended with her death in late 1999 from cancer diagnosed the week of our wedding. She was also a prize-winning author. Many posts on this blog are about her, our unlikely romance, and our life together, and still others consist of her writings. Information can be found at Julie Showalter FAQ.↩
2. Yes, I was indeed once a saint.↩

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