Counting Time

The day disappeared. It started, and then it was over. A long succession of separate tasks. Sara wanted me to deliver some art that had been purchased. Set Mary to some jobs I'd normally be doing. Three deliveries to make, a small event (Art Talk, one of the photographers) to set-up for. First, though, to really start the day right, even after I had brought her a scone, the Deputy finds it necessary to hurl a little sexual harassment my way. The ladies were having a Does thatquick conversation about husbands and sex, I excused myself, to go open the museum, and Pegi asked if the conversation bothered me, -no- I turned and said, the Deputy looked me up and down and said -you dress that way because you want it- Pegi laughed so hard she spit and covered her mouth. Smoothly delivered, excellent pace. Very funny. All three deliveries were to secretaries who knew nothing about any art, everyone an instant critic; between 2nd and 3rd deliveries set up a couple of tables with chairs and an extra dozen chairs, 3rd delivery, University President's office, three secretaries, and they're a little bumfussled by my extremely casual manner, but Rita, the president, sticks her head out the inner office door, and says -hi Tom, thanks for bringing that over- -no problem, Rita, but get somebody to frame it strongly, there's a warp in the stretcher- I love these little Janitor - President exchanges. The stunning sculptress from Yellow Springs is in the upstairs gallery, with grandmother and baby and I docent them around. Anna allows she might like to try a piece for the Wrack Show, and, oddly, we had picked up a stick, thinking about her, a cherry log, we think. River sticks don't yield up there true self right away, like a regular tree, they're usually smooth and gray, not much to go on. Then the Art Talk, Tony Mendoza, the best of the photographers in this show, I think, strange perspective, surreal, beautiful. His work sells for about a $1,000 a pop, it's beautiful. He's interesting, Cuban, funny, major grants in three different fields and just the right amount frumpy. He and Sara finish lunch together and I chat with them for a few minutes, then feel a little strange, the Artistic Director and the Artist finishing lunch, and the janitor is sitting in, as if he's waiting for them to finally set down that cup so he can spirit it off with the garbage. I have fish to fry, as my Dad always says, when you ask him what he's doing. One of the two blue banners blew away in the wind storm and Sara's husband, Clay, found it wrapped around a tree. Oh, wait a minute, one other thing about the scene, there at the end with Sara and Tony. I hadn't cleaned up yet, of course, and there was a jumble of chairs and the two tables, and just Sara and Tony, both bent over a card table, finishing lunch, chatting, and behind then is the front wall of the gallery, with all those photographs, it was a lovely picture. So I took the tattered remains of the banner down to the sign shop, to get another one made, chatted briefly with them. Victor is a shooter, so we talked shooting, bullshit stories, I can bullshit with almost anyone. Interfaced with many people today, way too many. I have an interaction overload thing going on, get a footer on the way home, some pepper poppers, make a large drink when I come through the door. 48 degrees this morning and I'd left the house closed up. It smelled like dirty socks. An unwelcome hour cleaning. How can I be both a very good janitor and a very bad house-keeper? Then I could write (to you, as it happens), and we'd make sense of it, together. I mean, really: sometimes I have a Subject Line, sometimes I have a Subject, rarely both, I merely write, it's only in imagining what you think I'm saying that allows me. You enable me. I can imagine that said in a more romantic framework, but there you are. Not that there couldn't be some nude scenes, but you see what I mean. How is that, that you see what I mean? Not an idle question, because the Wrack Show is a question, what is it doing? I don't know, but I like the way it sounds.