Last Minute

Trying to remember what I did all day, what I didn't do is sit down. Took the recycling away. As that dumpster is behind the library, returned books, got the new Lee Child; went to the hardware store and bought a piece of lath to use as a batten to hang a quilt. Two loads of garbage, including the dead micro-wave from the common room, which was incredibly heavy, and a pile of food (weeks old) from the big fridge, cleaning the kitchen out for our opening and the wedding reception the next day. Zoo-like. Sara and Pegi both go to Columbus for a screening of Liza's movie and panel discussion. TR and I hang the quilt. As mentioned, an imperfect science, but it's a beautiful quilt and looks lovely. Impossible to light, which is good, in a way, because old fabric wants low light. We take a chest of drawers (a perfect descriptive name, isn't it?) down to the basement, and a handsome drop-leaf table. TR covets the chest, it's a nice piece and he needs one, but it could bring a good price at our next auction. He leaves, to meet with Sharee about art projects, Trish leaves, for whatever reason, it's 4:30 and I'm bushed. I'd picked up a couple of things at Kroger, earlier, pack my bags; close it up and head home. I'll have a few hours tomorrow, to clean up. We have to set the bonnets and we need to do the signage, that's it, as far as I see. Some stuff I didn't get done, no one but Sara will notice, she flagged places that needed touching-up but the flags all fell off, and I have no idea, from a pile of post-its, what the hell I'm supposed to do. I don't have the time anyway, it's already tomorrow. Or will be, by the time I wake up. I par-boiled some baby red potatoes, then cut them in quarters and browned them in walnut oil in the toaster-oven. First day of March and I didn't need a fire in the cookstove. These were the best ever baked fries. Lightly salted, several twists of pepper, dipped in a garlic mayonnaise, I have friends that would kill for these. Lined the pan with foil, and the clean-up was nothing, wrap up a hand-full of crap in an easily disposable wad, I figure this shit out. There are times things actually make sense. Far and few removed, but times, nonetheless. Rarely, by my standards, but it happens: anything I can do, you can probably do better, still, I would present these baked potatoes as a simple offering.