Apple Gone

I communicate with the fox via apples. I've been putting one on the compost pile. A accumulation of compacted stove ash is on top on the pile. A very good medium for looking at tracks. Definite fox prints. Don't know if it's the same one or not, but that, and the three crows, seemed omen enough. St. Anthony was an Egyptian ascetic monk, considered the founder of Christian monasticism. He popped up on the Met Museum calendar today. I usually look up whatever it is and today's reference took me through an article about the systematic destruction of holy images, which is called iconoclasm. I don't know if I've ever heard that word. Hung a few things at the museum, in the offices, did a brilliant patch and repair on the front staircase wall. Looked on the paint schedule, to identify the color, then down to the basement, to see if by chance we still had some. We did, and the paint was still good, but the can was rusting away. I mixed the paint, had to, it was completely separated. There seems to be another short paragraph stored in Mail Waiting To Be Sent, I'll send it along, I had to save, because of an approaching squall line, and found it there, when I opened back up. Anyway, stirring the paint added flecks and flakes from the can, so I had to strain it, recover what I could. Stored it in a plastic container, with saran-wrap right down on the paint surface. I need this paint, because I don't want to paint that wall. The surface never gets sunlight, there's a chance the color will match well enough. It was funny, because Pegi had just noticed the patch and repair, wondered how I was going to fix that. The match is close enough. I went in to rag Pegi a little, she harasses me all the time, so I have my due, that the repair she had noticed, an hour ago, was now history. I am the gallery manager, after all. Part of my job description. Along with 'everything else' which, literally, includes everything. May have made a mistake driving up the driveway, I might not be able to get out tomorrow, not a concern, in terms of spreadsheet, I have hundreds of hours banked, but D and I had planned to do a certain piece of work. Wouldn't bother me if the schedule, as amended, didn't indicate anything. I just respond. It's really all I can do. Throw a dodge ball at me and I duck. Hello. I learned to duck in the first grade.