Sentimental

Kicking the fire in the ass, stoking the coals, it's 20 degrees and dropping. North country fair, she once was a true love of mine. Back home in Yonkers, we had nothing to lose. A Willie Nelson line. I could get maudlin. There are ups and downs. Saw-Mill Road. I think that's R Cash. Get a fire started on a bed of coals. Don't think. Merely act. Restart the fire and continue. There's no reason to argue, wasted breath. I heard on the wind, last night, that it's going to get colder. Big surprise. I worry about D, commuting to Athens, what's that line, "I don't care if the world don't turn, as long as you love me" and I don't know who that is, and my radio goes on the blink. Figures that my tenuous connection would disconnect. I was enjoying Bela Fleck and suddenly the radio fails., fucking communist plot. Late at night I require one light and the radio, it figures they'd fuck up the radio. I can light my way with a candle, with a match, for that matter. I certainly recognize my failings . Caves are hell. That incident in Kentucky I can explain, we'd been drinking moonshine. Not unlike Emily, when she pauses to breathe. The beat, now, comes from South America, we're too deep in debt to hear. Raucous fucking crows. It's useless to even try and keep up. Nothing you can do. Like Marley said, the ghost of xmas past. I have to go sleep, hold that thought. That's what happens when I get up at 3 or 4 and start a fire, I have to stay up 30 minutes, minimum, to get the thing damped down properly and I often start a new page that doesn't make much sense. Usually I throw them away. Almost always great music on NPR then, one of the only times I listen to music while writing. Discussed packing the show today, looked at some options, checked our stash of crates. The diaramas are going to be difficult. Drew, History professor at Shawnee, came into the museum today, went to lunch with D and me, we explained to him the finer points of making a good bean soup, then he talked about the early history of Scioto County, about which he's writing a book. Excellent informative conversation. Need to get a new grate made for the cookstove, to buy the replacement part from Stanley Waterford, and have it shipped would be several hundred dollars, but if I can find a cast iron grate I can get Rush Welding to cut it for $10 with their plasma cutting rig. I've found several objects that would work, but I don't think they're heavy enough. The fact that I've nearly burned one out is an indicator. Have to go to the scrap metal yard, which, along with the sandstone quarry, is one of my favorite places. That strange tubular fog that sometimes squats on the river was back today, I have a place below the floodwall (which usually contains said fog, that and the rather steep bank over on the Kentucky side) that is another favorite, because I'm inside the tube there. As I think about it, I have and have had an enormous number of special spots. Being a Navy brat conditions one to moving about. We lived 10 places in 12 years, Dad did recruiting duty when he wasn't at sea. Then, for me, Cape Cod, the Vineyard, Missip, Colorado, a stint in Virginia, then Ohio, so the potential for sweet spots is exponential. Especially when you specifically look for them. Remember, I built a bleacher, on the Vineyard, just to watch the sunset. That spring, on Saturday, was right up there, I'm pretty sure I can find it again. An aspect of just wandering around in the woods, here, is that I can't be lost, but as Jim Bridger famously said, I might not know exactly where I am. Whether an apocryphal tale or not, is a great line. The last of the hot Italian sausages, sliced and fried with onions and peppers, on a bed of mashed potatoes. This is sinfully good. I slice the sausage so I can cook it quickly, amongst the onions and peppers, which I've already cooked for 20 minutes, to bring out the sugars, and I'm drooling at this point. You spear a round of sausage, then ice it with mashed potatoes. Every bite is a transport of joy. I had a little side dish of pickled peppers. I had the thought that I didn't deserve this, then dismissed it. This is precisely what I deserve. It always is. You can't always get what you want. I just talked with Glenn, the Wrack Movie is available, through the museum, 825 Gallia, Portsmouth, Ohio, 45662, $10 postpaid; he wants to do a movie about the frogs, and then one about the fox, yours truly as the romantic lead. I'm deeply flattered and ill prepared, mostly what I do is stay is stay under the radar.