Cross Creek

Sometimes it's hard to not run down with the wind, just for the exhilaration, knowing that you'd have to beat back up against that same wind. Sometimes it's difficult to get from one place to another, even when you can see where you want to go. Boston Harbor was notoriously difficult to navigate, in the day of sail, because it faced the wrong way. I watched several clips today, of them flipping the Casa Concordia upright. Parbuckling. We've all flipped things upright, finger toys or Volvos, but what struck me about this particular attempt, was the size of the chains, each link weighed nearly a thousand pounds. A very large chain. It crushes everything in it's path. It actually makes grooves in the liner. It's very cool, the way they pull it off the reef and pop it upright. I have the arrogant thought, that with the right crew, we could have done that. Building a bridge is even easier. I build bridges in my sleep. Dreams, that are as surely possible as anything else. Thank god I didn't start re-hanging, I took three first-year art classes through the Carters. I know the material so well now, the Carter Archives, that I'm a great docent in those galleries. I was a bit distracted today by the yoga pants, but I still did pretty well. They left knowing more than when they came in. Charlotte took them through the downstairs, then handed them over to me: a docent tag team. TR and I had started the day replacing some light bulbs. I know it's the subject of ridicule, but we have some light bulbs that are very difficult to change. The Cross Creek thing, the last time I was down there, I don't even remember when this was, probably the 70's; my Dad and I fished Orange Lake for Crappy. We caught a few, but that was hardly the point, anyway; driving in that morning, the door to Marjorie's house was open, and there were a couple of vans outside, like suburban Moms might drive. I told Dad to stop, I needed to know what was going on. They were giving it it's monthly clean, the ladies in the Marjorie Rawlings Appreciation Society, I was able to walk through her house, I saw where she penned her letters to Maxwell Perkins, saw where she lived.. Many of her navel orange trees were still alive, I ate a grapefruit from her private garden. I like some of her earlier stuff, Dark Moon Under, and I Iove Cross Creek, and the cookbook from that. I use variations on her recipes all the time. What emerges is Maxwell Perkins, he was a genius editor. He dealt with an incredible pool of talent. At that very time Hemingway, Tom Wolfe, a lot of others, he was the to go-to guy. I have to go.

Tom.

Listen, what's up?