What Happened

The small volume by Beckett, "Proust" arrived today. Think of it as concise meets prolix. I'd gone to town, done my laundry, shopped (London Broil was on Manager's Special) then worked at the museum for a few hours. More painting, then affixing everything I could with Museum Wax. The label list, on the disc that accompanies the show, is screwed up, so I went through all 96 entries and marked them good, bad, and missing. Left early, around 3, went to the library and got Julian Barnes' new book of short stories. Drove home the long way around, all the way up the creek, enjoying the greenery, and washing my wheel wells by driving back and forth through the two fords. I stopped in the middle of the first ford, as I always do, and rolled a cigaret, opened the door, took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans; learned out the truck door and put my feet in the water, sat still, smoking, watching the flow. The creek is beautiful right there, sandstone and slate bed, a little waterfall just downstream, maybe 25 feet wide and 6 inches deep, and the banks, other than the road cut, are a jungle. The Beckett was first published in 1931, and I'll bet a first edition would be pricey, but I got a fifth, paper, for just ten bucks. I'd read it before, decades ago, a copy I'd picked up in a used book store in Boston, but it had disappeared, somewhere along the line, so that was my treat for this year. A used fifth edition of a slender eclectic book. Who could ask for anything more? I made a rub for the London Broil that is probably too hot, but I reason there will be very little crust on any given slice. I used some chili powders that came with instructions to use rubber gloves when handling. One of the professors at Janitor College, a Mr. Smith, who we all assumed was in the witness protection program, taught Water. The history of running water, water use, water management. He was like the water guru. But there was a back story. He had been married, and she had died, choked to death on a piece of blackened lamb-chop he had prepared. When he finally committed suicide, by snorting hot pepper powder, no one was surprised.