Cleanup

Gads. Good skiff of snow, cold. Glad I left the truck at the bottom of the hill, the walk down so pleasant, the snow again revealing contour. Still on the ground when I get home and I can see across the hollow. Winterlude. Cleaning up at the museum will take a couple of days, the kitchen tomorrow, floors today. A dark porter spilled behind the sampling table and the grout joints were awful. Used a tooth-brush and the peroxide (foaming) cleaner to lift dried beer so I could mop it away. Put away tables and chairs, went through all the garbage to recycle cans and put the ton of bottles back in empty cases lest the bags burst, picked out a goodly container of goose food. On my way home stopped at the lake and the geese were all taking shelter in the shelter, I spread out an array of pretzels and brownies and they waddled over for a look. Much food left-over, including a huge pile of pulled-pork barbeque. I offered to make a pot of chili for staff. Two straight days of making chili. This one will be odd because of the sweetish sauce. I'll add a little balsamic to cut the sweetness. Might be edible. Dance of the Docents this morning, where they get their briefing on what a show is or does. Fresh from filming with Glenn, I can do a pretty good walk-through with them. They love the installation, LOVE IT, ask good questions, admire some things. Sense is conveyed, maybe not a fixed result, maybe more about process, interest, engagement, attachment; maybe no meaning, but a simple archaic existence. You've got your village green, you've got your houses, you've got your shrine, you've got your shaman's corner (Lane), you've got a perfectly adequate chair, the bed's a bit rough (as it needed to be, to mirror the stick construction) but if you put enough elk-hides on it you'd probably be ok, you and the missus under 40 lbs. of pelts. Hard not to crow, the show is so good. Both whimsical and mysterious. Talking to myself, today, I questioned my intent. When I first started this project I was reading a lot about String Theory, and I didn't get it at all, the String Theory part, but I found this show, and it became a kind of String Theory for me. I often misconstrue. Streaming stratified bands of orange broken by narrow bands of dark clouds, what a sunset. Us tree-huggers live for this shit. Nothing better than the natural world. Maybe it's said best in those caves in France and Spain. Maybe it doesn't get any better than that. The leap here was not mine or D's or B's, but Sara's. She trusted us with that space. This chili I'm making for the staff is pretty good, it's hard to eat because the pulled pork threads are so long, they drape over the spoon, you end up slurping them, like noodles, but it's meat. Like I say, I love the museum, it provides me a place to play. Your normal crazy person doesn't have a place to play, you give them that, and life is easier, it's a no-brainer. Glenn and I talked about doing a play, my posts might be half a dialog and we'd have to imagine the rest, imagine it. So my intent is to use you, that voice on the other end of the phone, as a character I'm responding to, on the phone or whatever. My people should talk to your people. Break it down, meaning is explicit. Consider Praxitelies and B, me and Sappho, read closely, you see what I mean.

Tom

More like it's an unending chain. Something we couldn't deny. Yes, I have a piece of The Cross, I keep it wrapped in a piece of the Shroud, we should stamp it on tortillos. Let the world know. But we're holding out for a better contract, you and me, babe. Listen, someone asked me today, did I really imagine that, or did I put it together later, after I had heard some ideas bandied about, and it's always going to come down to that down to that. What you thought you meant.