Celtic Tales

Long, cold, dark, damp nights are probably at the root of it, but you start hearing things, and seeing things too. Peter Winslow and I, this must have been the early seventies, would take our kit to the outer beach at Nauset, and surf-cast for cod. We weren't wildly successful, but we caught a few fish, and a few fish were all we needed. He was a pretty good cook, and I was learning; we'd bring home six or eight four pound fish, fillet them out, bake one slab, with mayonnaise and lemon juice, and have it with eggs, for breakfast. The rest we'd poach, in a bamboo steamer he'd found at a yard sale, and turn into codfish cakes. These cakes were mostly fish, with enough left-over mashed potatoes to hold them together, and you simply fry them in butter, or bacon fat if you're lucky. I lived on these for years. One of Peter's wives was a gardener, and there were always greens, kale, that we cooked with salt-pork, and water-cress, that we served as a salad. He was a wild-ass biology teacher in the regional high school system. We once dissected a small whale, actually just a 1,000 pound Black Fish, in the parking lot at his school, and the entire student body was involved. That's what I mean. What was I saying? I don't keep tabs anymore, other than writing you, and a collection of oak galls I keep in a wooden box on my desk .Far as I know I'm not actually here. Today, for instance, I was pricking oak galls with my pocket knife, and tasting the exuding liquid with the tip of my tongue. It's doubtful that a taste of anything will kill you, and I wanted to know what it tasted like. Sweet. Oak galls convert starch to sugar. That's a revelation. One thing becomes another. Ron Issacs and his wife, Judy, showed up just after lunch with the four missing pieces. Necessitated re-hanging a lot of the show, that and the fact that the full length 'dresses' needed to be hung lower because they just didn't look correct, so I was madly hanging all afternoon with three or four people looking over my shoulder. Still have the one wall of small pieces, about a dozen, one in six parts, to hang, and two pieces to move just a few inches, but I can finish tomorrow. The bosses understand I'm kind of up against it, and assigned TR to work with me tomorrow. There was actually one piece too many, so we hung it down behind the receptionist's desk, where I must say it looks great, and it can have a bit of signage that directs people to the show upstairs. This is one of the most elegant and beautiful shows I've ever installed. It's stunning, you can't believe what your eyes are telling you. Ron and Judy are sweethearts, no affectation, and we chatted the whole time about various things. Ron had come with his repair kit, and both he and Judy were amazed that I hadn't broken a single leaf tip or twig. There was nothing to repair. You have to enter a zone of hyper-awareness, when you do stuff like this, and it's exhausting; I'm always surprised with how much it depletes my energy. Staying completely focused is hard work, and at this point I know my limitations. When they were leaving, Judy turned to me and said that I was exceptionally good at this, hanging shows, and I thanked her for the compliment; but I knew I was, and I hate people looking over my shoulder. I have the thought, driving home, that nothing is sacred, but everything is.