Moderate Flooding

Rain held off until just after I got home, then the deluge. Huge squall line. Fireworks, thunder, and waves of rain sweeping through the woods. Quite dramatic. Didn't want to log-on, but the first system is now off to the southeast. My electricity comes from the northwest. Prepped the entry hallway for a green stripe to accept white vinyl signage that will tie membership and Museum Day together. Something like that. It's a very good idea. D and K conspired. Excellent, from my point of view, because I was getting ready to paint the whole wall. The wall's about 16 feet long, and I want a 12 inch band of green. D and I draw a pencil line, using a 10 foot straight edge (yes, I have a 10 foot straight edge), measure up from that and level another line then two rows of blue painter's tape, which I burnish down hard so the paint won't bleed under, then two additional rows of tape, overlapping, so I can do the whole job with a roller. The actual painting will take 10 minutes. We sump-pumped the basement this morning and this over-night rain will test several theories. First, you define the problem. I had one of D's colors, from the membership flyer, scanned at Porter's Paint, and they mixed a gallon of paint, semi-gloss, because the vinyl releases better from that, and I named it Membership Green, which I thought was a really dumb name, but I wanted anyone in the future to be able to reference the color, and it's now in Porter's data banks. On the landing, going downstairs to the classroom, there's a wall that's painted dark blue. It's just opposite the wall soon to have a green stripe, and I have the paint, so I'm going to paint it green too. Painter mode. The woods are filled with an after-rain fog, then another wave of rain, but no thunder. I have candles lined up, and a legal pad, at the island. A Boy Scout, after all. Had designs on a fairly fancy dinner, ended up frying a nest of shredded potatoes with an over-easy egg on top, the last of a triple cream brie, another avocado, a few black olives. This weather sucks, and it's supposed to go on forever. Rain. All the lowlands are flooded, every bottom is a lake; the Sciotto, the Ohio, are well out of their banks. Moderate flooding is a relative term, a line you might build above, if you're conscious at all, on stilts, if you have any smarts, so you'd be above high water. More thunder, I'd better SAVE and go. Hold that thought. I can't, of course, because I can't remember anything. Every thing I say is suspect. Not that much really, I generally tell the truth, but sometimes, remembering, I'm pretty sure it's fiction. I certainly never did that, I just imagined I might have done whatever it was. Stop that thought, I'm too fucking facile to not understand what's actually going on, a buff guy in a loincloth, saving the maiden. Knights in white satin. Even just a horse, any escape. I'm not that, but I only argue, it might exist. Last train to salvation. Maybe just a pose, but when I caught sight of you, in the middle of that parade, you looked like something from a dream. So I saw where he was coming from. Direction is indicative of something. Where the sun rises.The rain wakes me, it's so loud.

Tom

That iris is perfect,
purple, and calling
everything into play.