Raindrops

A patter on the roof, an off-beat that almost makes sense. Mickey Hart playing just off the rhythm, a Grateful Dead song I recognize, "New Speedway Boogie", sounds like Bruce Hornsby on keyboards. I harvest 15 gallons of very clean rainwater by early morning. Eat yogurt with raspberries and wheat germ, big travel mug filled with espresso and cream, walk over to see what the driveway is like. It's pretty bad, but I need to get to work. Go down in 4-wheel drive, tapping the brakes. Wet leaves in the ruts are very slick. In town with time to spare at the farmer's market, a week's tomatoes for two bucks and share a smoke break with Ronnie. Start on the Carter galleries tomorrow, so I went over my notes today, to make sure I'd know what I was doing. Took down a quilt and hung a painting behind the reception desk. Went over the logistics with D for the next couple of days. Manic activity. The crane comes tomorrow. Three elevator guys, two electricians, two security system guys, the crane guys. Free sample of Tony Sherman's chili over at the pub. Very good stuff, ground meat, tomatoes and chili powder. Chili is as various as the cooks. I've had some great ones, I've made some great ones, and no two were ever alike. In western Colorado, Tom Howe's chili is elk or venison shanks, cooked for hours with onions and garlic, stripped from the bone and added to about ten pounds of sundry roasted peppers, ranging from hot to hotter. Everything else was served on the side, chopped onions, cheese, beans, rice. I make a version with chunks of beef, tomatoes and beans, that I can slow cook on the cookstove all day, while I read, make a pan of cornbread sticks and use them as pointers, dripping butter, while I try to explain myself, later. Alone, at home, I lean toward the one-bowl solution. Just makes cleaning up easier. Phone was out again. Great night for sleeping, down into the forties, and I got up ay dawn to build a little fire; cooked an egg, fried a green tomato. Got to work early, Crane Day, and I wanted to check in with everybody. Ray arrived in a box-truck with the new components, Tony arrives with the crane. We blocked off the street and he got into position to go over the power lines. Three guys on the roof, one of them the signaler. A complex sign language. First they brought down the old pieces, to make room for the new. The old motor, and the actual cable hoist unit were huge and heavy. These guys were so good they picked up the heavy pieces right out of the doorway of the elevator building, which is a separate building on top of the museum. Four floors away and set back far enough that Tony couldn't actually see anything but the signal guy. This is all very cool and slightly arcane. The new units, strapped to their pallets, are beautiful: a peak of manufacturing elegance. As they should be, for the price we're paying. They get the new components up on top, I made sure there was plywood where it needed to be, to guard the newly repaired membrane roof. Then, Tony abandoned the crane, after performing flawlessly through hundreds of specific, somehow gentle though the load was heavy, events. I enjoy watching anyone doing anything if they do it well. Went and got the, I don't know it's called, Extended Reach Super Strong Backhoe vehicle and loaded all the scrap into the box truck so Ray could go back to Cincy. Everyone has an agent.