K.41h  - once again, convinced by recent listening experiences that the mental noting of form in classical music is more than key to a genuine enjoyment of the process, I begin a new sally, with supreme energy and original force, into this most auspicious Koschel, that is, the forty-first-letter-h, now, with 9 minutes remaining in Freja's day.  Father Time shall greet me as I channel the piece, with the instrumentation and superb technology of Google's latest release, the Nexus 7.  Let the sport begin.
41h is apparently a church sonata, which means that 41h was predestined compositionally to mass juxtaposition, more specifically, with the inner grub of the epistle and the gospel.  This author shall by no means strain his mental powers to be aware, that is in the listening moment itself, that what he listens to is that decorous writing totem, the in-between-bit.  The author knows from past experience the indecorous circumstances which regularly present themselves, ark like, two by two, on their introduction to his consciousness.  He is aware of it, and he shirks the habit of familiarizing himself with it, like he does bad china.
I think it is appropriate at this juncture to comment on the fine state of china, generally, in the world today.
Now that that business is settled, let's have some fun!

How did we do?  The organ gave the whole a thick, gloopy texture.  If the piece wasn't so poodin rich the whole time, I might have been able to pick out what the organmaster was keying.  The melodic front was surprisingly pretty.  I looked down to take a bite of my pumpkin pie only to find my sweet delight swimmin in tears.  Ah shucks, what Mozart will DO to a lad like me.  But never you mind what I saw in the piece.  You listen to 41h.  Trust me, it's a hole.