Unhanging Alice

First, though, I must mop the back hallway, to see how the new finish held up to reception traffic, tracking in road salt. Excellent mopability. Then, as I was in mopping mode, swept then mopped the common room and bathroom upstairs, then vacuumed the offices. The Alice pieces are fairly light. I get 16 of the 19 pieces in the monster crate solo, while D designs an announcement card for the Brent Lee glass show. Early afternoon D joins me and we get all of the Alice crated. 15 pieces in each of the two other crates. 49 pieces in three crates. By comparison, the Mid-West modernist show, "Against The Grain" is in nine crates, four shipping boxes and five large open boxes holding several bubble-wrapped paintings each, so 18 packages. Total of 53 pieces. Much to do before that show hangs. Everything needs painting, after patching the 78 holes. Have to get the pedestals ready for the glass show. Found a missing painting from the permanent collection yesterday, it's in the Governor's Office in Columbus. Some confusion with the loan forms. So, I've found everything in the collection except for two photos of Roy Rogers. He was from around here, the esplanade is named for him. Best hot-dogs in town used to be from a street vendor there, but he's gone, now, and there's just a plaque. Roy in bronze relief, with his hat at that cocky angle. D had to get home, with Cool Whip for the pumpkin pie Carma had baked, but I went to the pub and had a shot of Paddy, my new favorite of the Irish Whiskies. Had a small chat with Jordan, the beautiful but seldom smiling and always quiet waitress. She asked me where my partners-in-crime were, and I said they had families and a life, She asked what about you, and I told her I lived alone in the woods but the Director of the museum was out-of-pocket and had asked me to stay in town in case there was any problem. "Against The Grain" is a very valuable show. She, Jordan, asked where I slept, and I told her I didn't sleep, just drank coffee and walked around with a baseball bat. Got a laugh out of her. It's hard to be completely up to speed in real time. Usually you think of what to have said later. So many filters between what we think and what we say. "Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past." George Orwell. If you're not in it for the bucks, you tease out meaning for it's own sake. The problem with history is deciding what to believe. There's this weird guy we run into at the pub occasionally, who feels it necessary to invade our private conversation. I can ignore almost anything, but the hair on D's neck prickles. The guy came in while we were lunching today, D picked up his bowl and downed his soup, asked Isaac for our checks, and got us out of there before he would say something really rude. He, D. hates these interruptions in our conversation. I'm afraid he's going to kill the guy, it occurs to me I might have to kill the guy, so D doesn't have to. I don't have much of a temper, but I won't see my friends suffer. If it wasn't for the Cool Whip I might have gone for a piece of pumpkin pie, so I could explain the theory of fall-back positions. On the Intimacy Scale, most of the people at the pub touch me now, when they're passing or giving me some water. I hear Bach in the heating ducts, a sonorous longing; what's bringing Alice down off the wall? A change of venue. Internet server went out. I'd stopped writing for a while, to read, and had saved, so didn't lose anything. Went out to the ridge this morning. A different world. The snow is mostly gone in town, and the temps above freezing, but on the ridge the snow has settled to a four inch crust and the driveway was solid ice. I'll try again tomorrow to get to the house. Dave said he could work on the truck net weekend. The lake was frozen over and covered with snow. I stopped to walk down to the spillway. That interesting visual phenomenon where the napp of water lifts the edge of ice so it can escape. A pileated woodpecker and three crows. The remaining ducks were crowded into a picnic shelter. St Augustine said that memory is the belly of the soul.