Grandmother Story

Shawnee prophetic tradition predicted the circles of hell for Indians wearing white man's clothes. Up and out early as I don't know the condition of the driveway, sure enough, a tree down, back to the house for bow-saw and loppers. Not a pleasant way to start a work day, sweaty and dirty. BUT the rest of the driveway handled the flood very well indeed, the grader ditch and culverts, the catchments, all self-scoured, what they were designed to do. The ditch is mostly down to hard-pan, even the leaves flushed. I'm amazed when anything works. The spillway was magnificant. It might be forty feet across and water was flowing over 8 inches deep, hitting the curb at the bottom and holding a standing wave over a foot high, down where the lake becomes Turkey Creek again. The noise level where I was standing, top of spillway (where the wave is standing is much louder) was just about chainsaw level, 100 dbs. When there is noise to that degree, thinking becomes a problem. First I forgot why I was there (to measure) then I forgot where I was. Sometimes it's hard to draw yourself away. Thursday is Janitor Day at the museum, I think of it that way, mostly because it's the day garbage goes out. D and the Deputy are discussing budget things, I horn in, I have a vested interest, I want a new dust-mop next year, the technology has leap-frogged, there's a nano dust-mop head now, that is charged, and, if I read the literature correctly, it pretty much sucks up everything. We didn't have this kind of attraction when I was in school, we still glued things. P-38's mostly, I did a couple of German planes because I liked the line, sexy those Messerschimt engineers. And the tail became important, extra feathers, a different color, whatever, maybe it was the way she moved. Fuck, I have to think about this. What becomes important. I define it, privy to the code, as just fitting in, how I get by, what I do. It can be defined many ways, what you do, might be best to hone a skill. A job that pays. It is so wonderful to not give a shit. Whatever you imagined, him, moving this stock, slowly, across the divide. Did I mention that my uncle was German. No one could understand him, what we saw. Does that make him "a" OR SOMETHING OTHER, or a mere article or something other. What you thought you were saying. I have trouble with our ancestory, questions, like my sister, asking me why I didn't earn a living, so damned smart, and I had to explain, I need to read for 6 or 4 hours, write for 3 or 2 hours, this was a given, what I did with my time. Basho, fucking looking at information. What would he say?, sometimes, I wonder. You, me. he shit it, what is extended..Yo, you. What I thought I meant. Sometimes it's just x number of feet, slipping away, I wish I had taken math more seriously,