Patch and Repair

The endless saga, though this time I'll be doing most of it by myself. Pulled hardware this morning and that always leaves a little miniature volcano. The second pass around I tap each one of these in, then I make a pass with a eraser, to get rid of the pencil marks, then a pass around with filler. Plaster anchor holes require two fillings. Next Tuesday I'll sand and refill as necessary. It's mindless work and the time flies. Lunch with John Hogan himself, and then right back to work. Put all of the smaller painting back in the vault, they go into bins, back to back, face to face, and there's another bin for medium paintings (medium, in this case, being not wider than 36 inches). Well have to re-hang the huge Carter "Let Us Give Thanks" because there's no place to store it. It's 92 inches (height, always the first number when talking about the size of paintings) by 100 inches, in an extremely heavy frame. The piece is awkward to move, we have to get it back upstairs, and it doesn't fit in the elevator. Everything else is fine leaning against the walls inside the vault. I spent some time clearing space. Handling art all day. I had to carry in juice, bread, eggs: and it was the first of the freeze-thaw days for the driveway; so I have to be careful where I step: I mean, I have to be careful anyway, but I was carrying eggs. Which allows me a wonderful dinner of the last of the grits, with a perfect egg on top, and a piece toast slathered with butter and jam. Doesn't take much to keep me happy. I'm a cheap date. I had John Hogan laughing so hard he sputtered. He'd asked how things were going with the alley project and I told him we were ready to break ground, that I didn't know any particulars, there's a Board Meeting next week and I suppose they'll decide some things. I have nothing to do with the body politic. I handle art and fill holes, the rest of the time I read and write, but I have learned to tell stories, to organize a stream of thought, and John actually did ask about the alley, and as it happens, I did have a story. We're fixing to spend 85 to 100 thousand dollars on the alley, to make it a green space, and it's a cool idea, and could be lovely, if there wasn't a bar next door, but that's not the issue. When I got to work, I had noticed there was some wind-blown trash inside the temporary barricades that block off traffic. After I got shed of my pack and whatever else I was carrying, my coffee, a scone, while I still had on my coat, I went back out to pick up the detritus. I surprised a guy, I suppose a homeless guy, taking a shit in the shadow of a large electrical cabinet that powers The Esplanade. It's twenty degrees, and this guy has dropped his drawers to take a shit. I don't know what to do. Is it a crime, who cares? I gave him five bucks and told him to go to McDonald's. His frozen shit I'll throw in a dumpster later. The snow-shovel would be the appropriate tool. If I was going to design a hundred thousand dollar outhouse, it would be much more swank. I just stoked the stove, and I think a nap is in order.