All Bluster

Windy autumn day that starts the leaf-fall. Leisurely drive to town, laundry day, stop at Big Lots for pantry supplies then lunch with D to liaise. Back at the museum we talked attachment, he made some points. A young couple came in and I walked them around the Circus Show, getting my docent rap in shape. Excellent show, "Sawdust And Spectacle", anxious to get hanging. I'll get D to put the Carter horses on the web site. Several have asked about the Wrack movie, and copies will be available soon as we get this show wrapped. Large workload for the next two weeks, hanging a major show with D. I think I can. Wonderful part of the job, working closely with Sara the last two days, setting the show, watching her mind tease order out of chaos. Should have gone on down the road and bought a new printer, but the lake and the ridge were calling strongly and I needed peace and quiet. Stopped at the lake and sat at the picnic table nearest the spillway, a gentle napp of just over an inch managing a sound much like a low note played on the cello. Just enough noise that I didn't hear the park ranger walking up behind me, he cleared his throat, so as not to startle which me, which, of course he did. I was rolling a smoke and he wondered what with. This happens often. He rolled one from my pouch and I went and got the opened bottle of merlot from the board meeting, which was probably better now, having breathed for a couple of days. I had some plastic cups. We drank and talked acorns. He was interested in my recent fascination with Balanocultures. I had some acorns with me, from a small tree in town, just behind the museum; getting to work early one day last week, I'd picked one up off the sidewalk and shelled it out, scraped it with my thumbnail, my tasting technique for acorns, and it wasn't too bitter, so today I collected a small bag, thinking about the soup Ishi described. I went and got one from the truck and we tasted it, I explained various leeching methods. He knew where I lived, all the locals do, I'm that crazy guy that has to park at the bottom of his driveway all winter and hike in. He knew I was a writer, he knew I worked at the museum. Whatever happened to autonomy? I think of myself as almost invisible, but of course my truck is often parked at the bottom of the hill, so people who use this road, Upper Twin, know where I am. And I'm not trying to hide, it's not that, I could hide if I wanted to, but probably not here, I'd hide in Utah, if I wanted to hide. Also, I know several of the park rangers, and word gets around. The eccentric at Low Gap Hollow. Talked with Linda about failed expectations, about how it was better to know which way the current flowed, so you could steer accordingly, then talked with Glenn about the final cut, how we wanted to work together again soon. I'd love to do a film about Janitor College, about Emily and Sappho. I'm open, as they say, to anything. It's hard to let go of one thing and start on another. Divorce comes to mind. Who was at fault and what does it matter? Now is now and then certainly was then. Mostly I muddle along, I have a dog-eared text I reference now and again, but it's hopelessly out of date, anything I say is bullshit. Understand that. Anything.