Phone Restored

Good day at work, TR and I almost finished taking down all three shows, just a couple of things left to do with D on Friday. Town was dry, sunny after a brief flurry, so I left my usual (winter) hour early and headed home. The lake was frozen, pockets of snow on the north side of hollows, and as I gained the last few hundred feet of elevation I knew the driveway would be impassable. Managed to get into my winter, bottom-of-the-hill, spot, and walked in for the first time this season. Scant half-inch, and it hasn't been above freezing for a while. The first walk in is the hardest. Not carrying much, a light pack, and I stop several times to look around and let my breathing catch up. Have to start the winter routine of prioritizing a list of things I'll be needing. Get out the crampons and put a set in the truck. The biggest problem with this latitude is that the freeze-and-thaw cycle happens so often. Must be Venus in the southern sky. Might not be, I don't know: you go through all this and they give you one fucking star. I changed into my winter writing outfit as soon as I came in the door, actually did the top part before I left the museum, so when I got in the house all I needed to do was take off my jeans, put on long underwear and the thick sweats I got at the Goodwill. I added a layer of socks and slipped into the oversized slippers I also got at Goodwill. Pulled Linda's hat down around my ears. I had to review the posts that were backed up here, there were actually three, but I threw one away because I didn't like it. Too nasty. What right do I have to be judgmental? I'm a janitor, I clean bathrooms professionally. As a profession, I mean. I got a very good fire going, starting with a chair, then some red maple then some red oak then some osage orange. My best fire of the year. I'm ok, I think; I was very careful, walking up the hill, using a sassafras staff I had broken off at the bottom. Me and a branch run the gauntlet. I'm hoping to reestablish contact with the fox, she might see me as a seasonal source of apples. Is everything always so tentative? I hate posting things out of order because it messes with the narrative. And there is one, which surprises me, at times. Narrative is strange at (wrong? collected) that point where a motif is selected. Call it what you will.

I have to go, Tom.