Finish Hanging

Rain, and more rain. The Scioto is swollen and the Ohio is slipping its banks. Starting early, working hard, get the show hung. A couple of pieces left to hang with D, one monster that needs a consult and the pieces on the wall with signage, which we never hang until we have the vinyl signage. I'm proud of myself that I was able to hang it solo. A few minutes help with the large pieces I couldn't lift alone. It looks great and hasn't been properly lit yet. A day of label work. But there it is. Sara is pleased and I'm pleased that Sara is pleased. A piece of work. Barnhart sends a Japanese croquette recipe, based on left-overs, several other people send recipes too, an Irish variation, a sweet potato version. Here's the recipe we're going to use, because you asked, only codified because we need to make a lot of them. Remember, I don't have a real kitchen here, just a fryer and a warming closet. Two and a half cups Bob Evans mashed potatoes, three tbsp bacon bits, three tbsp parmesan, three tbsp parsley, a couple of chopped scallions, enough bread crumbs and flour to stiffen the mix, rolled in breadcrumbs and fried. Refrigerate the mix for half an hour before you form the individual units. Handle them as little as possible, so they don't get heavy. Fry them quickly, at 375 degrees, until they're a little darker than light brown. Crisp and delicious. After work I go over to the pub, have a Murphy's with a Paddy Irish back, talk with John, the owner, about folk music and what we listened to, then on into the blues. Son House, Skip James. We both love Ry Cooder, Utah Phillips. Pub conversation, but more than that, we share a history, and that's important, in the great scheme of things, that we share appreciation. Leo Kotke, And who is that great picker, Norman Blake, I have to remember to tell John. I've heard John M and Santana play together, they blow the house apart, but Norman Blake is the best guitarist I've ever heard. Then you got slow-hand, "Layla", and Jerry jamming, "Dark Star", and Dwayne Allman playing for Boz Scaggs on that first album. Lord knows the guitar comes into its own. Not unlike big brother in the Cello Suites. Transposed by Edgar Meyer to the double bass. I had a good day, did what I needed to do, then some lively conversation, couldn't ask for more that that. More rain. Even little creeks are become a river. The roads are a flood. The chickens at Boobies seek higher ground. The fact that anyone understands me is pretty amazing; I often don't understand myself. Just saying.