Check List

Out of the blue, no thunder storms, nothing but a bit of wind, I lose power and half a page. Pisses me off, because James had explained that if I worked in a file, whatever the fuck that means, I wouldn't lose anything, because it could be set to save every line, every word, and I had agreed that when I got back from this trip I'd start doing that. Lost in the ether. I took my hand power tools into the museum, packed up another 500 pages of text. I have to disconnect my computer after I write on the 10th, take it into James so he can de-frag and erase the biscuits, and I won't be back until the 26th, the longest I will ever have been away. Decide to go west through Iowa and Nebraska, because I like the terrain; and I'd like to see it newly planted, corn, soybeans, and sunflowers; and I won't hit a major urban area between Des Moines and Denver. A plan subject to change. Talk with Sara briefly, and she likes the idea of barbecued ribs on the roof, when Glenn and Linda are here. Tomorrow I must upgrade the sauce with some bean juice and several marinades. I don't do that much, really, negotiate communication, some mopping, cook a few meals, it looks like more than it is. This job, for me, now, is perfect. A kind of spooning with the real world. I'm good as a mediator, I always see both sides of anything. Dumpster diving, I realize how vulnerable we are. What we throw away. Another event at the museum last night, so I went in today, to clean up, put away tables and move the chairs upstairs for another event tonight. No way that I can get everything restored on Tuesday, before I leave, but I haven't taken a day off since the last ice-storm and they'll have to limp along without me. Big winds today and that storm last weekend have ripped the tar-paper from the exterior of my clerestory; stopped by K's house and he'll effect the repair if I have everything here tomorrow at 11. Call D and he has the stuff I'm missing, agrees to meet me halfway. Can make the repair before I leave, which is critical, because, inside, under the clerestory, is 12 feet of double-sided bookcases, and if there was a leak, they would be damaged. His truck, and his father's truck, were in the driveway, and I could hear the television, knocked loudly at the door, Bear yelled "come in." The two of them were watching a movie, an Australian Western, and protocol, if it's near the end of the movie, you don't interrupt. I'm asking for help here, doing something I don't want to do, and Bear (K) can do it as a matter of course, and D has everything I need. It's who you know. My stash of materials pales beyond a phone call I might make. A tank might be difficult, but for a couple of million, I could get you a nuclear bomb. And I'm not even in the business. How easy it is, to extrapolate. Annie Dillard said there is no guarantied thread of connection. It might, in fact, mean nothing. What you thought you saw. I go round and around.