Another Storm

The cone of silence. I knew there was more snow by the absence of sound. Goddamn weather is getting to me. My foot is better, the crescendo of pain was walking in yesterday, I knew when I arrived home, that I had weathered the storm, still hurts, but nothing like it was before. It's the end of February, the skeletons come out of the closet, best not to pay too much attention to minor failures. Fact is the days are longer, though the sun is weak and slanted, and if you haven't blown your brains out by now, you're probably ok. I don't know what drives me, how I am driven, I put one foot in front of another, I don't a choice, really, I just need to get somewhere. Immediate necessity. My pantry is bare. But I've always, enjoyed is not the correct word, accepted, living close to the edge, because it keeps me awake, aware of the world around me. The three crows were back, commenting on my foolishness, I blew them off with a blast on my kazoo. Fuck a bunch of birds, they don't know much more than me. It's late, I have to sleep, deal with some demons. Finally get up for good, don't start a fire, shave, make an egg sandwich to eat on the way down the hill, walk down through just a skiff of new snow. Light flurries all day but temps above freezing in town, so nothing sticks, I fear this will not be the case when I return home, but too much to do to leave work. Punch list, little things. Re-do some lighting, clean some corners. D gives the docent briefing and I sort hardware. After lunch we tweak a few things, haul garbage, and I clean the last of the tools and painting supplies out of the kitchen (where they tend to live for a while after a show opens) down to the basement, because the official opening, Friday, is a food event, and the kitchen will be needed. Late in the afternoon, the beautiful Erica, who works at The Market Street Cafe, where we always get morning coffee and a scone, comes in, and asks for me. I had promised her the cook's tour and find myself almost tongue-tied; her smile is so radiant I develop a stutter. I love taking people through a new show, explaining what I can and fielding questions, and she's a quick study, points things out that I hadn't noticed. One of the perks. When she leaves, I become aware of the world outside and notice it is snowing heavily. D dismisses it, but I live 800 feet higher than town and I'm a little concerned, so I leave for home an hour early. Still snowing hard but Rt.52 is still almost dry, then Rt.125 is wet but still above freezing, five miles to go on Mackletree, and the lower three are fine, snow beginning to stick, but the last two miles are awful, the road not visible, several inches of accumulation, and almost a white-out. I'm the first and only vehicle and I guess where the road is. I take the end of Mackletree, which is downhill into the low gap, in 4-wheel low, Upper Twin Creek is buried and I stay in first gear, achieve the bottom of the driveway and my parking spot there, put on crampons and don an umbrella. A primitive Mary Poppins. This is difficult, I may need to sleep at the museum tomorrow night, because I HAVE to be there Friday for the double events. In the future I need to keep a survival kit at work, a pad, a space blanket, a pillow; but I can make do with carpet scraps. I know where the carpet scraps are, because I put them there. I know where the bodies are buried. If I leave one of the electric radiators on low, the house won't freeze. I realize I could do this, probably will. Would mean you wouldn't hear from me, not a big deal, very like losing my power or a dead tree knocking out the phone line, a blip, a minor glitch. If there was only a Motel 6 I'd rent a room, for a couple of nights, but in University towns the motels are always expensive, on the other hand taking 8 or 6 showers is an attractive concept. I could buy a luffa on a stick and scrub my back. Matters of personal hygiene. For years I had someone to scrub my back, usually, in exchange, I'd do their toenails. I'm meticulous doing toenails. I'm sort of infamous for that whole silly debate about toenail painting, I was just kidding. It's amazing what happens when the media get involved. The distortion. What I actually said hardly matters. I never actually struck the speaker in the face, that was an mistake in reporting, I actually just pushed him away, maybe rather forcibly, but still, not the same as striking someone. Where was I? Where am I ? Oh, and then the water got cloudy at the museum. One of my problems is that I'm way too liberal and can't hold my tongue. Another problem is that the pantry is bare and I need to plan some meals. But the most significant problem is that I really don't have enough dry wood. I'm ok, because I can burn the chairs, the pedestals. I probably won't freeze to death. I love extending out on that line, but who knew living could get this difficult? I already have way more snow than anyone had forecast, and the night has barely begun. Fuck me nine ways from Sunday. Whatever that means.