I have a memory of my grandad from when I was fairly young. My grandad was an English policeman (a bobby, complete with hat and stick), and he sometimes had a rather serious temperament to match. Surprisingly, though, he loved to play with his Rubik's Cube. He had a whole system worked out for solving it, and had put all the steps on a poster that he kept near his chair. He would explain said steps in GREAT DETAIL if any unsuspecting soul made the mistake of asking him about his system. His Rubik's Cube was so well used that it had become very...loose? It would fall apart dangerously easily, especially if a young child came and tried to mess with it.
Enter me. I messed with it. And of course it fell into what seemed like a million little squares, although in reality it was 20 little squares. (That's how many can fall out, the 6 center pieces stay put. I just looked it up.) My grandad was NOT happy about his cube being dismantled into many smaller cubes, and he was absolutely telling me so when I was rescued by my Nanna, who came into the sitting room like a whirlwind, demanding that I help her in the kitchen RIGHT NOW. Thanks Nanna. Anyway, I was thinking about Grandad and his cube this weekend, while we were in the midst of the Grosse Fuge. The process of putting it together with the quartet, and the dangers of performing it, seemed similar. The Grosse Fuge is a million little squares, all needing to be put in the right place. And if you mess with it, it falls into a pile of pieces on the floor. This time I didn't mess with it. Lesson learned. Thanks Grandad.
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