Crazy Weather

70 degrees on the third of December. Some years the lake has been frozen by this time. I needed whiskey, so I drove into town, the long way around, a lovely drive, with the windows down and bird song. Stopped at the museum and read Carter clippings for a couple of hours. Watched an episode of "Elementary", had a beer at the pub. John (the manager) killed a deer last week-end and said he'd have some venison for me tomorrow. Glad I waited to make chili. Black beans, venison, onion, several cans of diced green chilies, and chili powder from my excellent stash. If it stays this warm I'll have to cook the cornbread in the toaster-oven. He said there would be some little steaks too, my favorite breakfast meat; with a fried egg and a piece of toast, it is the way to start the day. Found an interesting clipping, in which Carter talks about his technique: most of the watercolors took a few hours, some (Cannon Ball House) took a few days, because there are all those damned bricks. I don't hear his voice that often, I read Mary and Mary's Mom and Carter's Mom, but Cartie doesn't say much. He's pretty much in his studio, or on a trip drumming up business or satisfying contracts with another magazine cover, or designing the costumes and sets for an opera, which I just found out about, wondered why Mary had kept a clipping about a Pittsburg production of "Figaro", then noticed his name at the bottom. And now I'm going to Chautauqua, where he taught painting, painted his most iconic painting, for a show at Carnegie, the fall, 1943. Neil sent me a great essay, about Emily and looking closely. A double tap. Tammy, at the liquor store, within Kroger, asked me where I lived, I give her the short answer, the middle of the forest, almost to the Adams county line, and the woman behind me, we were the only two people in the store right then, looked up at me and said "you're that writer, aren't you?" I had to admit that I might be, that I was a writer and lived "out there", if you viewed the headwaters of Bloodly Twin Creek to be at all important, in the great scheme of things. I do control the high ground, I don't mean morally or anything, just that I have a strategic advantage: if I control the ridgetop, I can knock you over with a potato and assume you won't talk for several hours.