Big City

Two country boys ogling the lovely women in Columbus Center during lunch hour almost rear-end a city bus. It is certainly true that half the really attractive women in Ohio can be found in the several square miles of German Village, Columbus Center, Short North, and The OSU campus. D and I had not made a trip together in a while and it was a treat to act like school boys. Up early this morning, I got to town with plenty of time (despite being stopped dead in my tracks on Mackletree to watch eleven young turkeys pester a single crow trying to make a meal off a squashed rabbit) to go below the floodwall. Found: 2 crotched posts, 4 stump pedestals, and 3 bleached and tumbled rails. Next week we must collect them, but, as I said to Sara, I'm no longer concerned about the Wrack Show, everything we need is available. Get to the museum, D arrives with the truck, we light out, never stepping foot inside. Stop for monster breakfast burritos (a tradition) and another coffee. We talk about such a range of subjects, common interests, that these trips fly. Straight up 23 which becomes High St. and west on 5th Ave. to The Ohio Craft Museum, Betty shows us the pieces, five crates and a box, we load them, then chat for a few minutes, being neighborly, look at their displays, gossip a bit, then back on the road, headed home. Neither of us hungry, we skip lunch at the North Market, stop at a discount tobacco store, where I get a can of Bali Shag (a great tobacco) and then maybe ten minutes at an upscale Goodwill Store, looking for D a summer sport coat, stop at a Quick Stop for snack mix and a quart of Gatorade each, not a wasted minute. Back at the museum a little after 3, unload the show, take a breather out back for a smoke. Both of us feeling beaten and badly abused by a rented truck with no shocks. I immediately go get the cordless drill, to open one of the crates, we unpack two of the thirty-two pieces and they are exquisite, I can't even imagine how they were actually turned. We hold them in our bare hands, knowing we should be wearing gloves, but wanting to touch them, they are a crossroad between art and craft. Vessels that don't hold water. I'll get D to send images to Glenn to post at Ridgeposts, fucking amazing. I have to eat, before I write you, a small yellow-fin tuna steak, less than six ounces, I took out to thaw this morning, I start a small oak fire in the grill, rub the steak with walnut oil and pepper, serve myself on a bed of baby greens and a sesame dressing, some cheese, another perfect vine-ripened tomato. Good to go.