Flexible Hours

My thinking is, right now, that I'll probably go into the museum tomorrow. There's a four-part piece that needs hanging on what I refer to as a 'hard' wall, plaster over concrete, and they want to be aligned both horizontally and vertically. They're imperfect, and the wall demands plastic anchors, which have to be installed with a hammer drill and a quarter- inch bit which makes small adjustments very difficult. Sometimes I wallow out the hole and shim the anchor into an exact position, but I discovered, recently that I can drive a nail into the plastic anchor, which I can then bend into position with little raps of a tack hammer. It's low-tech, but it works, sometimes I have to file the nail-head down, so it'll fit in the clever little D-rings that are usually small washers stitched on the back. Did I mention that these pieces are a pain in the ass? It does, though, tend to keep one alert. I've thought about the four-part piece for several days, and what I'd like to do is go into the museum when no one else is around, crank the Grateful Dead on the sound system, and drill the necessary eight holes. This could take as long as two hours, because I'll have to do the math a hundred times. Actually drilling the holes will take eight minutes. I just have to drill them in the correct place. It's simple math, in that there are no unknowns, but it's as complex as simple math gets. Then there's the front wall, which is seven pieces, three glass balloons with a mylar-like surface, shiny silver, and another glass balloon, pierced by a brass arrow, and three other brass arrows, wait, no, I think they're cast bronze arrows, and they have to be affixed in whatever pattern C decides, and they all hang on plastic washers that are screwed into the wall. That'll be fun. Everything else is simple, what one does, one foot in front of the other. I make it a point to not stir the pellucid pool. Go out of my way not to stir the water. The world itself is confusing enough. Swirl in some cream and you have chaos, I can hardly drink a cup of coffee without thinking about the heat death of the universe. I used to hang in the air, kick mule blocks around, now I can't even climb a ladder, go figure. Moby Dick factors in somewhere, it always does, that gold -piece hammered to the mast. Power was out again, so I couldn't send last night, did manage to save everything. Got to work early, day off, and Charlotte and Mark showed up shortly. I knew they would. We all just wanted to be certain that we can open on Friday. Worked hard all day. Tackled the four-piece unit first, did the math a few times, set the anchors, and got it correct in one attempt, no re-hanging. Took an hour. C said it looked great, as near to perfect as fabric art can be. I have to re-hang one other piece because we decided that a large ceramic platter wasn't rigged correctly for hanging and it was to be hung in a vertical twosome, now I have to re-hang the bottom piece. So, tomorrow is just the front wall (the balloon and arrow piece) and the signage wall (which is just a couple of framed pieces), then labels, lighting, and cleaning up. Trash is piling up and the bathrooms are a mess; they're serving finger-food and drinks at the opening, so the kitchen has to be cleaned. I'll have to work that night, probably pouring wine, but I should be able to get home before dark, if not, I'll stay in town and drink all the left-overs, watch a little television on Hulu, see if there's anything that interests me. I need to stay in town, a couple of nights, to finish editing the Janitor College book. It's a very funny manuscript. Actually makes it difficult to work on, because I'm laughing half the time, and I make more mistakes, because I'm tearing up and then can't see the keys accurately. Barb tells me, at lunch, that John Hogan has a couple of questions for me, and could I come back at Happy Hour for a free pint. Which, of course, I can; and we talk about building a stage for the pub, and Barb wants me to do new seat cushions for the booths. I can do that, though I tell them up-front that I don't want any money, I just want free lunch and the occasional pint.