Midnight Rambling

I enjoyed that post last night, working several layers in, got up to pee, and there were a couple of replies. Aralee Strange, who some of you know, had me grinning and remembering in equal shares. Talking about her Dad's Pflueger. An open reel casting rod, pre-spinner, that was a nice piece of equipage. The constant danger of backlash unless you stayed attentive. My Dad leaned toward Shakespeare, another fine open-face. I still have one, in a box somewhere, with the mother of all tangles in situ, waiting for the more dexterous of the next generation to tease it out. Dating myself here, but I'm pretty sure I remember a time before monofilament. A kind of flattish casting twine. I might be making that up. Aralee is a fine writer. Google her. Then a post from Barnhart. I'm sure you can down-load some of his music, he'll be working on Glenn's next film, a master of percussion. He was talking about his mother. I want to meet her. K asked me this morning if I'd gotten laid, because I was grinning and moving smoothly, and I said no, I was just happy to be alive, handling paintings and being a critic. It suited me, really. Sitting in the back of the boat, untangling, while everyone else was, were, pulling in three pound crappie. One trip, to Lake Destin, we brought home 42 crappie over two pounds. Serious fishing. At the beginning, we just rented a boat, then a boat with a small Western Auto outboard so we didn't have to paddle, we could get to those spawning beds where the bluegill roiled. One of those beds was a peculiar drop-off, where two creeks met, and I'll never forget the way my Dad would triangulate the spot, using a dead tree and a rotting dock to find the precise spot. Probably couldn't find it now. Another spot lost to history, because the tree is rotted away, and the dock is only a memory. If I had a cave, I'd draw you a map. What these replies mean, is that someone understands. I'm dumb-founded, really (had to include that), by the apparent precision of memory. Knowing full well that what I remember is not exactly what happened, but it leads someone else to remembering. Shocking, actually, makes you wonder if memory is a game the universe plays to perpetuate itself. What signifies isn't always real, that's the problem; sometimes we invent. That is a Whip-O-Will right now, I guarantee, but it reminds me of so many things. Love lost, a missed meal, that trailing smell when you passed through the room. Gass says that three things make a list. A working definition. Lightning up toward dawn, I really should go sleep a couple of hours. I love smoking and drinking in the dark, everything is revealed, but I need to sleep, had no idea you cared. I need to wash my hair, maybe get my cage-mate to pull off ticks and eat them. We're all just monkeys in a cage. Just another movement, I don't want to call it post anything, as a label, a handle, we need a phrase, call it, god, naming, American Naturalism, or Birdsong, or Sweet Release. Boz Scaggs, late at night, can turn your head around. Whatever takes your fancy. Just saying. It's already tomorrow. A great many people write better than me, but I write all the time, so I tend to make up in volume what might fail in the particular, or maybe the opposite of that. I have to go wash my hair. A little late for work, but I've booked so many hundreds of extra hours, it's fine. Plenty of time to finish packing the show. Nearly finished today, but took it easy with the back. Worked alone, which was restful. Drifted, all day, enough focused attention to do my job, but thinking about dozens of other things. Payday, so I walked my check over to the bank, half-a-block, and saw seven women, all of them obese, all from behind. The word steatopygia came into my mind. Had to look it up, but couldn't spell it, took me 15 minutes to find it, always a good time. Wasps are terrible out on the front deck. I went out for the gallon shower and came right back in, need a can of bug spray, or a CO 2 fire extinguisher. Harvested wild honey in Missip by freezing the bees. Thought about buying the Raven map of Ohio, a beautiful thing, saw it online, but I don't have a wall for it; maybe upstairs, maybe change things around. Ohio has 312 miles of shoreline on Lake Erie, then falls off into the Till Plains, one of the most fertile places in the country. Watched some clips from Liza's movie "Refuge" on Pegi's computer, hadn't remembered that Linda Cardenelli was quite so attractive. Have to admit my back hurts, when I get home I self-medicate. Better now. Eat a can of room temperature beans right out of the tin. This passes for a life. There's plenty to read, and that's what, as Anthony pointed out, keeps me from being bored. I read all the time, at every meal, at every break, long days when the weather is inclement, and even when it's not. I can read all the time now, because it's too hot to do anything else, a few months ago it was too cold. I'm a sensitive guy, what can I say? I've gotten older and I no longer do roofs. Janus at the door, I screen callers now, what can I say? I don't have time for nonsense. Then I think of Lear, or Gorey, and realize, yes I do, have time.