Flood Warnings

That time of year. You live near a large river, that feeds from the north, and carries runoff from ten thousand small drainages; at snow-melt, late winter, early spring, this is what you get. Big rains and thunderstorms tonight. It could be a mess tomorrow morning. High winds too, on the leading edge of the next cold front. I had to reattach all of the labels in the main gallery, the new directors had chosen an egg-shell finish for the big new paint job, and suddenly the little loops of blue painter's tape I've always used to attach the labels to the wall, were failing. Switched to poster putty, which is what Charlotte told me to use, though I've been unhappy with that in the past, because it had left an oily spot on the wall. She swears it's been improved. Whatever. Spent most of the day taking labels off the wall, removing the tape (made a cool tape ball), cutting poster putty into small pieces, affixing them, then repositioning the labels with my story-pole. A mindless task. The artist, Alan, and his dealer, Tim, from Columbus, were at the museum most of the day, lunch with the directors, talking about the catalog (a big deal, costing thousands), and the major opening next Sunday. I just want a punch list, with an order of priorities. I haven't been able to get to the compost heap for three or four weeks and I really need to clean out the refrigerator, this week for sure; do my laundry (my office smells like dirty socks) and rent a motel room, so I can take a bath. Thunderstorms moving in, I'd better go. Five hours later, the intense rain tapers off, the power comes back on. I'd built a very good fire, topped with a Red Maple knot, and the house was so warm I let it go out. It's a big event, when the electricity kicks back in: the fridge starts, the radio cycles through its functions, the computer says "Please Wait", and the light in the back entry comes on. Two in the morning, I get a wee dram, and roll a smoke, listen to the staccato drum beat of rain and drip on the roof. Well and truly removed. It's not even that I can't buy into the system; I could, I think, if I applied myself, but I'd rather be alone, and listen to the rain.