Distancing Myself

Standing outside with D, having a smoke, talking about bookbinding, and especially that final moment in making a hard-bound, when you 'tip' the finished insides into the finished case. The most difficult step. I go get the mail and there's a small package from Glenn and Linda, a handmade book from Florence. Bound in some very thin leather, it is a perfectly made object, flawless, tipped perfectly into the case. An older guy, Linda said, not a word of English, and this book represents a life-long apprenticeship. Exquisite. Craftsmanship tells. It's always a joy to see something so well made. A cold, clammy, windy day, much more uncomfortable than many days colder, and just when I'm about to leave for home, it starts spitting snow pellets. Without 4-wheel drive, I have to postpone return to the ridge. Tomorrow promises some sun and I must get out there, if only for a few hours. I may spend the holiday in town. Snow forecast. Loose ends at the museum, cleaning some truly awful things out of the fridge, hauling trash to the dumpster, mopping salt-encrusted floors. D joined me for a beer after work and we discussed plans for the weekend. His family is all close around, and there's a schedule; mine involves a trip to the library, making a pot of chili, and reading. I did my family thing at Thanksgiving. It's difficult to explain my attitude toward holidays, I love my family and my friends, and I'm comfortable around them, but I dislike crowds and mouthing platitudes. Pegi said I was welcome to stay at the Cirque studio, where, in the basement, there's a TV with cable; and I might go over there, watch a movie or some sporting event, the History Channel or something. Or I might just walk beneath the floodwall, examining wrack, I don't need reason for what I do, but there probably is one, buried somewhere. Reason enough. The fact that D was surprised I knew the name of the pass the Greeks were defending is surprising to me. I've not seen the movie but I know my history. Be it ever such a fiction, a matter of record, if you choose to believe anything. Fortunately my name is Thomas and I can doubt everything. Peeping, even.