Slanted Light

Amazing, how different things can look, depending on the angle. It's supposed to snow, so I may go into town tomorrow, three shows to take down and a litany of things to do. D will be back at school, TR and I have to pack and send things all over, not a problem, because we've been over this, what gets shipped where and how. But I don't exactly remember how those small painting were packed. I'll figure it out, I'm a professional after all. After my foray under the house, and a walk to clear the cobwebs, I dined on cheese grits made with feta, medallions of tenderloin, the sauce, two perfectly fried eggs, and toast with horseradish jam. One drink and a smoke and I was out like a light. Just woke up and it's next year by several hours. I missed the festivities and because the phone is out, I didn't receive any calls. Someone probably tried, my daughters, or Linda or Glenn. Though maybe not, everyone, actually, has their own house to crawl under. A scattered few stars, rare enough here, and I remember the night sky in western Colorado, where the Milky Way was prominent 300 nights a year. The sauce has transformed into a dark, rich, unspeakable substance; next time I tend it, I want to add some lime juice and a bottle of beer. What happens to the sauce when I'm gone? Six months after my body is exhumed from a tree-tip pit (sorry, couldn't resist that) someone has to clean out the fridge. It happens, people die, their refrigerators have to be cleaned out. Fiberglass burning my eyeballs, what was I thinking about? right, the sauce. I've worked on this variation for nearly a decade. A sauce. I can't believe myself. I insulated the rim joists exactly the way I intended. Sometimes things work out right. There is a god, or gods, I got the first drink of the new year and rolled a smoke. All best to you and your's. Something about routine settled whatever that question was. I'm thinking an egg on toast would be perfect right about now.