Sara Calls

Goddamn fingertips are dry and splitting, and I've just put ointment on them when the phone rings. I miss it on the first couple of rings, slip sliding away, but it's Sara from Hilton Head. I gain enough control to tuck the receiver between my shoulder and ear and wipe my hands on my overalls. My Professor of Ethics, at Janitor College, Sir Goodly Weightless, told a great story, and I don't know if it's true, about how the side of a boat from which things were unloaded was the port side, and the opposite side was starboard, because of the view. Probably bullshit, but it's great to talk with Sara. I think she's concerned that her show is safely on the ways, which I assure her it is, duly launched and on the road. A show you originate is a lot like a baby, there are concerns. What about the car-seat? Is everything strapped securely? Another reason I had to take today off, yesterday, just to let my brain rest. The quality of mercy. I'm listening to the Bach Cello Suites transcribed for double base, haunting, I think probably the greatest piece of music ever, it draws my heart strings. No mediation. Me and God directly. Edgar Meyer might well be the greatest player of music in the history of the universe. If you listen closely to this transcription, it is a transport of joy. Mary Gray called from Columbus, thinks she is missing a painting, I remember the packing so completely, I'm able to say with absolute confidence, that the watercolor is in the bottom of the box that had the Kuhn "Ringmaster" on top. The museum is a mess, barely got started cleaning today, remove hardware tomorrow, get started on the patch and repair, then paint the whole damn gallery. Figure to work a couple of hours with D tomorrow, shop, hike in supplies, then cut some wood. Sunday I can split in the rain, under the shed, Monday too. I love my new way of splitting, kneeling, with the Estwing hatchet and a little sledge hammer. Completely saves my back, and it's meditative, I can watch for the fox, I'm closer to the ground, not nearly as much lifting. A small group of geese, I had stopped at the lake on the way home, looking closely at the overflow, feeding the ducks, considering vibration, and this haggard band flies over, seven birds, in a very bad 'x', looking like they want to land. Looks like they want to, they drop down, then flap up again and continue south. In a few minutes, they're back, but still don't land. Then a third time. Finally, I think I must be in their spot, or something, and leave. Fuck a bunch of birds. Someone had cut a tree that fell across Mackletree, stopped and loaded four 24 inch boles maybe 18 inches in diameter, all heart, dead red oak. If I can drive in tomorrow, a possibility, I'll bring in water and wood and go back for another load. Logistics. Living remote carries its own set of rules. What do you need, in what order, and how much does it weigh? I brought in some dried beans, pintos and great northern, a pound of smoked jowl, onions, several artichokes, whiskey, juice, cream, an acorn squash, some key lime juice and a pie-shell. I'll make sense of this later, over pie and coffee.