Pollyanna Doesn't Live Here

The history thing. Drew wondered. I was reading Procopius. He'd written the 'official' history of that period, A.D. 500-527, Justinian and Theodora. Wild times by any standards. And it's straight forward bullshit. The kind of thing you'd hire someone to write, which I guess they did; or threaten into existence with the idle comment that if you didn't they'd flay your ass in public. So after he'd done that, he wrote a second book, it probably was him, the style has a certain swag, called "The Secret History". A brutal, raw thing, in which he exposes every crevice of depravity. I don't know how it came down to us, and if I even offered a theory I'd be getting out of line, because the provenance is shaky. It marries nicely with the Marquis de Sade. I don't offer an opinion here, I just read these things, try and discern what's being said. The temperature drops like a stone and I'm so engrossed in the book that I don't notice until I'm extremely cold and realize the fire has gone out. Fuck. I'd swore to myself I wouldn't let that happen. But I have fat pine, and oak splits, and a match, so I can probably keep from dying. Sounds more serious than it is. I have a down bag that would protect against almost any cold, and I just have to walk down the driveway tomorrow (downhill is easy, I can do it with a certain flare), flip on my heated leather seats, get a coffee at Market Street. Retreat to the museum..This isn't so difficult, if you just take one step at a time. Got to work fine yesterday, Pegi called, sounding like death warmed over, said she wouldn't be in for a couple of days. She said Steve, her husband (a weather watcher) said there was a good chance for an ice-storm and would I please stay at the museum so that there would be someone there today. I agreed, went over to Kroger and got some supplies, watched two episodes of Elementary, then read art criticism until midnight. Woke up this morning, and there was very little ice, but my house is a thousand feet higher than town, and every thousand feet in elevation is a different climate zone. I was the only person at the museum, D teaches on Wednesday; Pegi called again, sounding even worse, but TR did come in long enough for me to go to the pub, have a bowl of soup and pick up a few dinner items. Didn't get much work done, because I had to stay in the office to answer phone calls, but I did take two older gentlemen from Texas through the Carters. They had seen some of his work at the University of Texas, bequeathed there by James Mitchner, who was an avid collector. Heading home, as soon as I got out of town and into the hill country, the ridge-tops looked smoky, and I knew there had been some ice. Went I got to the state forest on Mackletree, it was stunning, beautiful, but I could see that the phone line was out, gone slack on it's poles. So I won't be able to send this. By the time I got to Upper Twin, everything was covered with ice, not a lot, just an eighth of an inch, but what a magnificent prismatic sunset. Surprisingly I had electricity, turned on the heater and started a fire. The house was cold, 42 degrees, and it clearly never got above freezing here today. The walk in was so beautiful, it would break your heart; right in it then, of course, face to face with a million miniature ice sculptures. I'm glad I don't photograph anything, because I got home without freezing to death. Out here, in the field. It's so romantic and so anti-romantic, at the same time, that there's a tendency to freeze to death, trying to decide where you fall. I was careful, where I put my foot on the walk up today. Whereby there becomes here, which is a big deal for me. Achieving the ridge. Driving home is one thing, but getting to my house is another.

Tom

Hard stop, the space and then the name, I like it, a certain dynamic. Spaces and punctuation roll along. Meaning is a mystical beast. I really have to go to sleep. Remind me what I was I was talking about. Wait: Houston, we have a dial tone. Force of habit, I check before I sack out, and there it is. Get one more drink and roll a smoke, read back over and decide I'd best just send while the sending is good. I'll pick up the thread tomorrow.