Seeming Odd

Justin was wrapping his head around the idea that we were eating a sauce that was eight years old, I was explaining how you could preserve something by keeping it in jars under a layer of pure fat. When I resurrect the sauce, I throw away the disc of fat, a hardened bit of lard, and boil the key-note speaker. It's usually a bit stale, after a slumber, and I brighten it with some acidic liquids, white balsamic, some fruit juice, and half a gram of a superior ground green chili a friend sent from New Mexico. Thus you keep things alive, not unlike rescuing an animal at the shelter, or skinning and gutting a roadkill coon and turning it into a meal. I could hear B, hammering in the distance, putting walls on his woodshed, and I walked over, to ask him for a ride into town on Tuesday, the case-of-beer for idler arm installation is at the mercy of the installer. Out here in the country, things move slowly. Fine with me. Slow the whole show down. It must seem odd, from Justin's point of view, that I can live this way, without certain amenities. At four, I got up to pee, and there was an animal rooting in the compost pile. I've long since given up on inventing a narrative. The next thing is always more important. A coon in the compost heap. People always comment on the quantity of books, and always ask if I've read them all. First, I say that they're only seeing half of the books, and that the entire library has been culled twice, and that yes, I'd read them all, a lot of them more than once, and that's why any given book was still around. Justin didn't comment on the teetering piles that are a new design feature, and as almost everyone does, at one point spent a few minutes scanning the titles on a shelf. Commented that I seemed to have a wide variety of interests, and I explained my process of learning: watching and reading. We talked about song writing and various guitarists. Two generations apart, but we like a lot of the same people. I told some stories, in answer to questions. I hadn't spent a few hours in someone's company, in my house, since Neil was here, months ago. I spend well over half my time completely alone, with the fridge turned off. It doesn't seem odd to me. Just the hum of my black Dell, the irregular tapping of keys, and me, talking to myself. Nothing odd about it. I accept the implication that I could be perceived as odd, but I can explain everything. I thought she was eighteen, the rice is gummy, why not to use an egg in a crab-cake; certain truths, it seems, are inevitable. Sun setting over Hanged Man Hollow is spectacular. Exactly why I built a bleacher, on the Vineyard, to watch the sunset; probably still there, wrapped in vines and hidden in tall grass, a testament to observation. I watch therefore I am. The end of February I can have a beer at the pub and still get home before dark. Dinner was great, left-overs from last night; a feast, actually, I ate until I got tired of chewing. The sauce is resplendent, with some balsamic heat, and I take an extra portion of bread to clean my plate.