Cricks And Pops

Not as bad as it could be, in that I can still move, and the house is more comfortable. An even trade. Creature comforts win every time. Still, I had to go to town, I'd had dirty laundry in the truck for three days and it was starting to smell like sneakers. And I needed food and booze. I have all these fresh eggs, and I want to use them. Linda had brought me a tin of very good pate from France and I had written the firm, to ask where I might get some more of that incredible product, and they'd sent me a tin, mentioned a few stores in NYC, so I make an omelet with pate and a decent goat cheese. Excellent. Fog everywhere this morning, even the parking lots in town. Open up the museum, there's a school group scheduled for all day, TR, and Pegi's Cirque to entertain them, a docent to take them around the galleries. I hole up, most of the day, reading Mary's letters. Getting into it. Receptionists (volunteers) canceling, so we're all covering the desk and the staff starts thinning out tomorrow, by the end of the week, and all of next week, just D and I here. Which is fine, I have to re-hang some Carter walls, do some painting, D has a major catalog to design. Less distraction, and there won't be many visitors. Actually I had a great chat and mini-docenting session with the brother of a former employee today. He was good friends with B, knew all the people on the creek. We talked easily with each other, and it's always nice when that happens. After work I went over to the pub, for a beer and a shot of Irish. TR was in the back corner, writing out music on a staff, and I didn't want to disturb him, I knew he was working on the Emily piece. Jason was sitting at the bar, and I knew we could talk or not. Two scruffy guys come in, they sit a stool away, and the nearest guy looks at me. Said that he knew me and he used to live on Mackletree, and I realize it has to be Dennis, from the octogon house, another Emily is his sister, and his mom shoes horses. And this explains who that woman, wearing a helmet, on horseback, who waves a stilted wave at me occasionally, actually is. A breakthrough, and how cool is that? it's EMILY. Of course she would be waving from horseback, with a helmet, such that I could only tell you her gloves were tan. Essentially, I saw nothing. Maybe they were gloves, maybe they were her own hands, if she'd spent forty years herding animals, her hands would be pretty tough. Maybe, just saying, there could be another reason.