After Opening

Always happens that lots of things get taken to the basement without sorting, last minute on opening day. Also, after a reception, there's always a bit of mess. There you have my day. In early, down the creek, went below the floodwall to sit and watch the river. A good place to think. I've lived beyond the boonies for a long time. Moved around a lot as a Navy Brat, more than usual, because Dad was a Chief and a nurse, so he could do pre-induction physicals, his shore duty (two years of a four year hitch (he did six hitches)) was often a year each in two different states, and after the very first years I can remember, living in quonset huts on Naval bases, we always lived in neighborhoods. Neighborhoods can be alright. An apartment could be alright, if it was above a bakery. A sea-change, the simple algorithm, pay for someone else's labor and extract time. I could use the time. Looks like time to deal. Like playing chess. I always move one move too soon. And nearly always lose. I'm sure I beat someone somewhere, at something, but I don't remember. Something Kim said, I had forgotten, in extreme rural situations, you don't pull a permit and draw plans, you just build whatever it is you need. There's no inspector, no Big Brother, just you, and a pile of materials, make what you will. Down the creek, there's a rough-shod family, in an ox-bow, that cares little what anyone else thinks, every appliance they've ever owned is in the tall grass beside their trailer. But they acquired a ground-hog saw-mill, and they have some timber, and they're building a butt-and-pass log cabin with neatly squared timbers. This is no mean feat, and though there's no real jointery involved, they're doing a tidy job. They're up to roof height, and I can't wait to see what they do with the roof. I build in my head. Joints, the connections, are the important things, I usually let everything else go. I rarely finish anything. Being honest here. A hunter walked in to my place this evening, I heard him coming and the dog barked, I went out on the back porch to warn him I was here. He commented I didn't cut my yard, and I replied that I was conducting an experiment in jungle. I don't like having to defend myself. Leave it to the MFA's and the other various philosophers to even predict what road we're on. With the bridge situation the way it is, when I leave the house, or leave work, I don't know which way I'll go. I turn right or left. It's arbitrary. I try to not think about which way I'm going, and then just enjoy the ride.

Tom

It seems too obvious, but I'm nothing if not transparent.