Confronting Odds

Good I got back to the museum, the physical plant suffers. No fault, it's my bailiwick, everyone busy as they can be. Janitor stuff all morning then unhung the smallest gallery, museum collection of abstracts (meager, they should buy a Gampp), stripped the main gallery, patched and repaired. Had forgotten how many anchors we had hammer-drilled into hard walls. A mess. Hanging big shows is tough on a gallery. There are two small areas, large enough for a single painting of a certain size, so the same exact area is patched every time. We need a Gringo Block there (in Southwest adobe construction you need some wood to attach door jambs and windows, so you embed blocks (anchored securely)) to make your life easier. You can get by without them but it takes conceptual thinking, with a block, you just nail. Thus the name. I guess we're known for taking the easier route. I prefer speculating, myself, and conceptual is fine. The greatest door I ever installed, I think I wrote about it somewhere. A welded steel jamb to hold a massive door I'd built from 4x8's. Way overkill, but it was the door into Thomas Jefferson's father's (Peter) above ground cistern, and it was just right, perfectly correct. I had to cut a door opening in foot-thick concrete, then install the jamb, no Gringo Blocks, anchored it with welded rebar, what a piece of work. Drilled the rebar into the rough opening. Resplendent faith that I drilled the holes correctly, and it worked out almost perfectly; door like that, level and plumb become relative. In hindsight it becomes a rhetoric of certitude, but, believe me, at the time, I was sweating bullets. I picked up a few things at the store, need to get some meals ahead: back at the museum, getting home to a cold house. It's all fine, the trade-off, the algorithm. My feet were cold, when I came in for the second time yesterday, quite cold, and I hadn't noticed; I need to start noticing the things that I've previously ignored. I'm held together by an Ace Bandage and two safety pins, there's not a lot of slack. I need to make this as easy on myself as possible, but this life isn't easy. I nod, make an adjustment, anyone is closer than me, but I'll take the shot if you think I really should. What's her name, whoever got me onto this, my muse, I forget her name, led me to the bottom circles of hell. What I see is a kind of prism. Makes up for definition with pure color. Hold it against the glass, what do you see? Refractions, I rest my case. How does a mouse when It spins?