Hard to convince my daughter I am not her butler. Been trying to help her grasp me picking up her clothes tossed on couches and chairs, might not be my job description. I can appreciate she believes me well suited to pick up after her. True, I do it very well. To try and solve this I threw her stuff onto the ground, the bottom of the stairs where sometimes there can be spiders or ants. That freaked her out. Insects could get into her jeans. She found it very unfair, never mind my lecture about using furniture as a laundry basket is very unfair. The most amazing part is I was just like her. Once upon a time the son of a mother. I don’t recall her trying to persuade me I was acting like a selfish moron, but perhaps she did- and I did not care. I definitely remember the same outrage over the quality of parents employed as my maid service. I guess I am capable of being sympathetic to her. Though I do wish I could also break the chain and sort how I inadvertently set this up (and maybe how my mother did) or, considering in life I traveled from A to B, from uncaring about the mess I generate to caring very, maybe there isn’t in fact anything I need to do, other than notice life will do what it will do. There is a moment when you learn that very very simple thing, what confounded you for years, is in fact obvious and not hard at all. Hits you like a truck. It wasn’t that you lacked virtuoso super powers, you just didn’t see the path as clearly as you now suddenly can. In the Wind Up Keith Jarrett is just playing 1rst and 2cnd inversions of triads.