Learning Curve

I've read a lot of condition reports, but this was a new one, a painting by Charles Burchfield, "Trees and Ravine", quote: "Incoming loan condition: Water in bubble wrap. Foul smell". Also, several works on paper, and instructions that the light levels not exceed 5 foot candles. Which means breaking out the equipage. I love it when they get technical. D in, so we do the natural thing when there is an apparent disagreement in numbers. We empirically check. In fact, the truth is even more confusing. I had missed two painting, in my quadruple check yesterday, because two packages that seemed like singles were actually doubles. We had to pull pieces from their boxes to read the labels. Which means that we signed for 53 painting and we actually have 55. Still one short of what I calculate the number to be, but we now have a check-list and know which is the missing painting. Make a call to the museum of origin, finally get through to the guy who does my job there, and he remembers that the painting in question was pulled to be shipped back to Chicago. We have 55, we're supposed to have 55, I can now make the list Sara requested. Went over logistics today, for the next couple of months. Crates out the ying-yang and we have to create some order. Tomorrow morning we spend in the basement, clearing storage space, talk through the order in which things arrive and the order in which they need to leave. Try to move things just twice, coming in and going out. Intended to start painting walls today, but got side-tracked stripping vinyl signage. The new generation is thinner, as the cutting has become more precise, and the adhesion is better. I'm a Luddite, OK; I liked the last generation, slightly thicker and didn't stick as well, because you could peel it off. This new stuff I have to scrape with a razor blade. I'm prone to small nicks and tears anyway, and really shouldn't be trusted with a single-edge razor blade. A creche of blackbirds on the wire, a full Leonard Cohen, talking about the weather, but I couldn't quite understand their language. Bloody cold and colder coming. I'm spoiled now, sleeping warm, becoming a creature of comfort. Wittgenstein's cat lolling next to the stove, that retired bird dog, Ava, living for a boot massage under the table. Went over to the pub with D, and the fireman, Josh, was there, shooting down Irish whisky with stout back, and told us a very funny story about fighting three fires in one day. Mid-winter, snow, sub-zero, and his outfit was frozen solid. At the third fire he asked the nozzle guy to hold off for a few minutes, while he warmed his hands. Heat is always lost, that's the rule, in so far as I understand the rule. Maxwell's secret hammer.