Mud

So many freeze-thaw cycles per season here, that living as I do, mud becomes a fact of life. Tracking in muddy ice and snow. I keep chair near the back door in winter, a stiff brush, and a pair insulated moccasins I favor as house shoes. As soon as I come in the door, after kicking both feet against the steps (6x12 timbers), I take off the work boots with crampons attached, slip on the moccasins, take the boots back outside and bang them together, then sweep up the mess I've made inside and throw it outside while it's still frozen. This confines the zone I need to mop to a small area that I can usually clean with a couple of napkins. I'm a saver of napkins. They serve a triple function for me, so I can absorb their cost to my foot-print. I use them to blot the migrant dribbles of soup, then dampen them, to mop, where I make a mess, then dry them, over near the stove, and use them to start fires. I bring home newspapers from the museum, and anything else combustible, to start fires. I have used bad poems to start fires, but I usually feel guilty later, so I try not to do that very often. I have some coal, which I don't generally have, because it's even messier than wood, a laden truck took a curve to quickly on the river road and I was able to fill a five-gallon bucket in just a couple of minutes. Pieces from golf-ball size to base-ball size. Burns very hot if the bed is properly laid. I might start keeping some around, for holding a fire overnight. I cooked some rice last night, just so there would be some left-over rice (fried rice is better with left-over rice) then today I caramelized a yellow onion and a red bell pepper, fried the cubed loin chops in hoarded bacon fat, mixed them together, stirred in the rice, and that stringy scrambled egg. This was so good, with that Mango Chile sauce, I thought I was weeping. I just have a cold in my right eye, but it was a good meal. Certain selective exaggerations. The world is in an uproar, and danger is everywhere. News from outside the bubble. Moral scruples. Cymbals, not drums.