Dew Point

When I got home yesterday, I didn't need the AC for Black Dell, it was just 80 degrees outside and a few degrees cooler inside, so I turned on the ceiling fan, above where I write, and opened a couple windows wide. It never did rain, and I crashed on the sofa, after a couple of drinks and a mammoth helping of re-fried risotto (mushroom and caramelized onion). I woke up about 2:30, needing to pee, dry in the mouth, with a dream on the tip of my tongue, something hot and steamy. I keep a 16 ounce bar-glass in the fridge, filled with mixed fruit juice, and I take a big swallow whenever I go past on my way outside to pee; it's always such a blast of fruit sugars that it makes me smile, and I usually get a wee dram of Irish and roll a smoke in celebration that something could taste so good. I turned on Black Dell, to make sure I'd sent last night's post, which I had, and all was good with the world, except that everything was damp. I fear for my books, so I close the windows, start the AC, and build a small fire in the stove. It seemed logical at the time. I was a little hungry, and B had brought over some beautiful tomatoes. I made a piece of toast, with this great multi-grain bread that I prefer, slathered it with a jalapeno mayonnaise, sliced on a perfect tomato, grated on a hard cheese, ran it through the toaster oven. Jesus Christ, this is so good I have to weep. It should not be that mere mortals could enjoy should a thing. The lock and key guys were in, to install the automatic door-opening device on the back door. $3,000, but a necessary step toward being accredited (only about 7% of all museums are accredited, and there are some real perks, Smithsonian shows, access to a different pool of grant money), and that's clearly on the minds of the new directors. When the guys were done with the door device, the brought me up to speed on the care and feeding. It's wireless, and the battery that powers everything is actually charged by the normal opening and closing of the door. I keep meaning to get one of those wind-up radios, for when the power is out. I always printed on old presses, which I had adapted to the foot treadle mode, they had an offset in the cam-shaft that was designed for treadle operation, like those old sewing machines. I could print, at my peak, five hundred sheets in an hour, and I could never see why I should upgrade to electricity when I couldn't move my hands any faster than that anyway.