If Not

Nothing, if not quite enough. I had a dream in which some red-neck asshole was about to slug me for some imagined slur I'd made concerning his heritage. I had actually just made a comment on the mating habits of bullfrogs, and it was taken out of context, but the dude had taken offense and was right in my face. Generally I hold my tongue, even when someone is saying something very stupid; I don't care, as is said locally, to get into an argument. But twice, recently, people I held in high esteem have said hurtful things to me. I'm Lutheran, for the most part, and assume I've done something wrong, but when I think about both of these cases, that assumption was wrong. When I'm on my knees, with a magnifying glass, examining a miniature iris, I'm not a palpable threat. Why, then, would people I know well, and care for, go off on me? This is a complex question. Break it down, it's simple enough, I get it, and it's lessons learned. But please, please, don't get in my face. I've spent most of adult life avoiding confrontation because I've found it just isn't worth the bother. I prefer to be left alone. Left being sinister, and alone, we know about that. I have too many books to ever move again, it's a nightmare, even the thought, as books arrive in the mail. My ability... let's just say I'm inadequate to the task... my ability pales. My evil twin Pthomas thought that his idea was the worst, and that he should be sequestered first. He thought fat people should be made to eat less. I doubted that was possible. The power of dumb. Broken branches festoon the forest floor. Broken wind and sheets of rain. The new bosses lead by example and their energy level is frightening. I don't have an opinion about this, whatever works is the rule of thumb, there's more than one way to skin a cat. This is a difficult show to install, there is no unifying theme, and even the sub-sets are vague. I watch Charlotte looking at the space and looking at the art, and I'm careful to not express what I actually think about the merit of particular pieces; we're just beginning to work out a relationship here: it's all new terrain. But a couple of times she asks what I think about a grouping, whether or not, for instance, did a blue section work, and I tell her that, yes, it does, because the white lines in a post-modern quilt mimic the lines in a woven rattan basket thing. Which seems to satisfy her that I actually have a useful opinion. Then, later, considering how to install a difficult piece that involves blown glass balloons and brass arrows, we arrive at the same solution. Bodes well. I don't unduly brag when I say I could install anything, if I don't know how, I know who to call, Kim or George or Glenn, we consistently did the impossible in a week. I have a group of friends that can solve any problem at a glance. Nice to have that in your back pocket.