Slapstick

Three guys sitting at a bar. The middle guy has to dodge the conversation. Dips in and out, depending on who's talking. D said I should take home a coffee can of the super ice-melter we use at the museum (the science of salts has been a lifelong interest) to clear a walking path through the sheet ice on the back porch and steps. I crawled in, yesterday. TR gave a cogent review of a movie. I wasn't working, so I just had a draft for lunch, after a huge late breakfast that had involved potatoes, sausage (home-made chorizo), onions, and several eggs. I recognize the state I'm in, a kind of grace, and I don't fight it. At the bottom of the hill I arrange my pack so it's comfortable and walk up in the median, because the tracks are a muddy mess. I sprinkle salt, like a blessing, and walk right up to my door. I can do this. Home is where I want to be. No agenda, no phone for that matter; I read and write and go to bed. This morning dawned clear: blue and calm. I wanted to be outside, so I donned the black Carhartt bibs, had a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, put on my thickest leather work gloves and grabbed the long-handled clippers. After an ice storm blackberry canes and young sassafras tend to hold their new bended demeanor, and I spend a couple of hours clearing them off the upper part of the driveway. Then spend some time in the woodshed, which resembles a second-hand furniture store at this point, cutting up various table tops and chairs. It's my new passion in recycling, reclaiming the lost BTU's from abandoned furniture. Editing the Janitor Book is a study in comma removal. It's interesting, the way meaning is slightly morphed by the subtraction or addition of a comma. After lunch, tomato soup and half a ham and cheese sandwich, I got my rucksack that I carry on hikes, an old canvas thing that contains a foam pad, to kneel or sit on, a magnifying glass in a Chivas Regal cloth bag (to protect it against scratches), a flashlight, a couple of small Tupperware containers, a few power bars, because I never know how long I'll be gone, and a compass. A good Gerber knife clipped to my inside pocket, a knowledge of snares and traps, two Bic lighters, I could probably get through the winter. I have the house warm enough that I can shave and wash my hair. It's supposed to be above freezing some time next week. Little mercies. Not that I care, particularly, but that I notice. It's actually easier to walk down a frozen driveway, wearing spiral crampons (TRAX), than it is to walk in mud. My mop-handle walking stick was abrading at the end and I fit it with a copper plumbing part, that I fill with waterproof glue and stuffed over the end, excellent improvement. I could market these in the next Janitor Supplies catalog and make a fortune.