Above Freezing

The ridge is still snow-bound but rotting fast, spike out the stove quickly with very dry red maple. Wait, that was yesterday. Too many split-shots of Irish Whisky, with Murphy's Stout to chase. Anthony is a perfect drinking companion. The conversations I'd missed since the fracture with B. We talked about site-specific installations, specific gravity, and where we'll be when the cows came home. Open up the museum early because I'm expecting an electrician D has talked to about repairing some of the light tracks in the main gallery. Mark, I think his name is. He shows, a little late, because his 19 month-old first child, a boy, wanted Daddy. I've got a world of things to do, Clean up some dried vomit, on carpet, in the Carter gallery, strip hardware, fill holes, erase marks (there are numerous light pencil marks hidden by a hung piece: center-line, distance from floor, spacing from the neighbor) to allow for easier touch-up. Because the vomit is dry, I cover it with a very wet towel, leave it to moisten. I took a course in this. Removal Efficiency, after the mandatory Detention Time. Vomit is easy to clean, if you catch it wet. This case is a little odd because the vomitor was moving away from the bathrooms, toward a quiet corner, which me wonder what he or she was drinking. I get a whiff, through the towel, of gin, which must have been from a flask, because it wasn't an event with a bar. I have to remember to tell you about the recent experiments with left-over mashed potato croquettes. Pegi asked me about finger-food for the opening, mid-western and my first thought was potatoes. Sling whatever barbs about profiling, but they were the first thing I thought about. I'd seen some on the Food Network, god bless Hulu. The electrician shows and this is a two-man job, because the dimmers and breakers are 70 feet away from where Mark is working on a ladder. I need to stay close, so I refill and sand the holes from the last show, flip switches on and off. Once you soaked the dried vomit, you wipe it up, I keep old tee-shirts for the soaking and wiping and then just throw them away. Not that different from baby-milk-puke, or a ewe dying from a prolapsed uterus. All of it is pretty much the same. There's a new show of Rockwell Kent at Denison. I know way too much about Rockwell Kent, I own some of his work, found two of his original cartoons, in an attic on Cape Cod. I was teaching Waste Water Management at the time, but there was this Hungarian, teaching a curse in Transcendental Waste; a weird woman, She took no excuses and failed almost everyone. It's hard to say when I'm serious, and when I'm poking fun. Take Astra, for instance. Consider the three different leaves on a sassafras. Consider almost anything, for that matter. Patsy Cline, John Lee Hooker, always the other side. I actually wrote down a recipe, does that make me a Republican?