Conversation

Opening reception for the high school art show last night. Good music. I kept musicians supplied with beer. Stayed in town because I'd drunk a bit myself. Dealt with the plumbers all morning, planning an attack on the leaking pipe. Finally settled on taking off the old cap, plugging the pipe with quick-set cement, then double capping the whole mess. President of the board called, he's a plumbing wholesaler in three states, and agreed it sounded like the correct course of action. Another mess to clean up. Then it was set-up for the jug band tonight. They're good, playing now, I left my door open. I get frequent visitors and the occasional odd request. Technical assistance after the show has started usually. Make a pot of coffee, dole out a shot of whiskey. The salamander egg cases vibrate and move a little. Steve McQueen, "The Blog" kind of action. Quite creepy. I'm tempted to cut into one of them and getting a spat out for examination. Start a little row of bottles with pickled salamanders at every stage of development. Maybe not. But I did have the thought, for when I give my salamander recitation. Docented a high school group, art students, through nearly the entire museum this morning, the full tour except for the artifacts. Spared no detail. I used a few mild words and talked about nudes, they liked that. The salamander eggs are hygroscopic. That's how you get a fist-sized egg case from a four inch skinny momma. After the opening, last night, went to the Mexican place and had a drink while K ate, then back to the museum, helping her sort photos she's taken of the museum and events, to see what might be appropriate for various PR uses. A lot of images. Fast and fun, she's nimble on the keyboard. Helped the jug band unload, nice guys, they've played every sort of venue and all they require is an electric plug. Good crowd, responsive, finger food and a drink. Tables spread through the main gallery. I always worry about the paintings. When the band finishes, and they sound like they're winding up, I'll help them load, get this place closed down. Now it sounds like they've gotten a second wind. The staff is exhausted and wants to go home. Two events in two nights is a bit much. I'll get the place cleaned up tomorrow and go home early. Supposed to rain but the morels should be out. Two more inches in the forecast, and there literally is no place for it to go. If the leaves were a little further along, they'd take up a huge quantity, but right now, most of the water will be run-off. The flood season. West of town, where the floodplain is broader, the bean fields look like giant lakes. I stopped to look at the egrets and saw the ripples of fish feeding half-a-mile from the river. The red-buds and the few remaining dogwoods are blooming. Color returns. One of Pegi's kid's moms from the Cirque was flirting with me tonight, and I flirted back, in so far as I understand the ritual. I know the woman, from other events where she's volunteered, and she's attractive. I know she's recently divorced and was asking about me. Which is flattering. But I flirted with her, really, because she's kind of depressed and needed some attention. I had some free time, asked some leading questions and listened. She really is attractive, but she's very straight and has two young boys, and I'm odd, not suited for any kind of normal relationship. I have to take all kinds of time-outs, retie my shoes, watch slowly unfurling events in real time; I get distracted so easily. Genuine distraction. I think I've proven I'd be hard to live with, I'm all alone. I am a good cook, and I have other talents. I can skin a rabbit like taking off a sock, I can build anything, certain fundamental things I've learned to do. Not so much a bag of tricks as what was necessary at the time. Conversation figures high in the equation, that final algorithm, why else would you want to be with someone?