Time Pieces

The wheels of commerce tied to time. A mystery to me. Cut and split some wrack for the reunion, realize I can drive in, make a list, quick trip to town. Supplies. Try to think ahead, fine tune the menu. Going to make a stew on Wednesday for Friday dinner, bread and salad. Need to check the weather, Linda wants ribs, I think, two hours on the grill, have to be Saturday, then the eggplant and medallions on Sunday. So many ingredients. Roasted root vegetables, parsnips, turnips, potatoes, onions, excellent dinner, sprinkled with a good balsamic. I graze, eating a few pieces every time I get up. Fucking dogs, man, they upset me, they run off the wildlife, they're stupidly loud. Two yearling does browsing the joke I call my yard, a few green shoots, here come the dogs, there go the deer. Goddamnit. I'd like to make corn-sticks one of the nights but I'm maxed out, and besides, I'd have to keep the stove too hot too long and they'd eat too many of them, I'd be at the stove forever. The next reunion, bean soup and corn-sticks, fried salt-pork, and wilted lettuce. Creoleization. Someone said about the Wrack Show, that it opened doors in the way he saw things. The thing about fall root vegetables is that they need a frost, to start converting the sugars, otherwise they taste like shit, chalky fiber. But if you've grown them yourself, harvested correctly, then you know how good a parsnip can be, a turnip. I trim off a small piece, with my trusty pocket knife, in the store, rub off the surface crap, taste. I got both parsnips and turnips for the stew, sweet. I might roast them before I add them, to bring that out. They'd dissolve in the juice. A kind of ghost. Like the bottle of Guinness I'll use in the stew. A whisper, two people bump in a hallway, maybe something is said, maybe not. Maybe a short piece of film that shows the master without any pants. I have to smile, me saying that. How far removed we are. Consider where you are, when that fits exactly, what I thought was being said.