Overtime

Buy me a new pair of shoes. Nothing to do with anything. I wouldn't bet on it, if it came right down to it, I think your Queen's pawn is in trouble. Stayed in town, rather than walking a slippery slope after dark, and had a great time. John Hogan, himself, was at the bar in the pub. He bought me several Irish whiskeys, and we sat there and talked for hours. Mark and Charlotte came in, just back from DC. After they left (and Barb had gone home to do something) John and I had Alicia streaming music... not Irish music, but early folk, rock, and jazz... off a cell phone into the sound system. We were a bit loud, but no one else was there. The hospital crew finally came and got their stuff at two in the afternoon yesterday, only 28 hours late. TR and I got rolling this morning, put away chairs, our tables, and spent some time on the floor. I left early, because there was finally someone else there. If I attend the Xmas dinner for staff tomorrow evening, and I should, I'll probably stay in town again, rather than walk up a muddy driveway after dark. We have a thaw coming, over the next few days, and it's going to be extremely messy. The frost coming out of the ground. If the woodshed were full, which I can easily do, and the larder was well stocked, I could stay up here for days or weeks at a time, which is my inclination now. In the inclement weather, go down maybe once a week, for books and booze. Hole up, in town, when I needed to install a show, but otherwise, off the radar. This came up several times today. And the night before. My friend Kim has departed his job, for the state of Florida, and John Hogan, himself, has accepted retirement (again) because they need someone younger that's willing to work full-time. And it hit me, when I was walking in, I'd stopped to decipher a kill-spot, the fox had gotten a vole or a mouse, and there was disturbed snow, some blood, and a spiral spread of fur. The tracks said it all. I studied the area closely for maybe half-an-hour. A narrative was like reading an essay or a short story. I read a page, on average, in three minutes, so a thirty minute diversion is the same as a ten page story. Yesterday, I think it was yesterday, but it may have been the day before, I was looking at a reproduction of a Wyeth painting. I looked at it for an hour. Had a smoke and a wee dram of Irish, called a friend who is wiser than me, made a small sup, with potatoes and eggs, and generally retired myself, still looking at the painting. The alternative world it's possible to create. If I'm not beholding, to anyone else, then I'm a free man, and I can look at a picture for an hour. I was never an Art History major, but I was always a quick study.