Heavy Slog

Had to bring in supplies for the weekend, and it was above freezing all day so the driveway snow was rotten. Makes for a difficult hike. The museum was warm at last. The carpet guys were in, to do the back stairs and the stairs down to the classroom. I have to meet them on Monday, so they can finish. Mark and Charlotte are making arrangements to pick up the two shows I need to install before February 14th, and I imagine I'll have to spend a couple of nights in town, as I won't be able to miss a weather day what with a fairly tight schedule. I'm copacetic with that, as I have some free beers coming to me at the pub. I'm given to believe that Miles Davis made up the word copacetic, but I don't know if that's true or not. I've had a picture of him, push-pinned to the wall, wherever I've lived, since I first heard Bitches Brew which I rank in the top ten recordings of all time. I must spend a few hours Saturday or Sunday filling the wood stations, cutting up more of the detritus in the woodshed. Then, in the spring, I can start filling it full of oak for next winter; and I have to finish sealing the floor insulation, which would decrease my heating needs by 25%. Those two things for sure. I joined AAA and AARP today, covering my ass, I needed a Plan B supplemental program, AARP looked like the best buy; and I joined Triple-A because I'm going to be on the road this year. I was exhausted, dealing with the cold, and hiking in and out, so I crashed early, knowing I had a couple of days off, and not particularly concerned with staying on any schedule. About three, there was a ruckus at the compost pile. Two red-eyed coons, hissing at each other. I couldn't make out what they were fighting over. I left them alone and turned on Black Dell, made a cup of tea, rolled a smoke. The ridge, blanketed in snow, with no wind, is very quiet. Talking to myself, an internal monolog that's a cross between serious documentaries and ESPN. One minute I'm thinking about ice, what I watched at the confluence of the Scioto and the Ohio; and the next I'm remembering that flash of leg I saw at the courthouse when I went to pay my land taxes. Fourteen years today, that I've lived in this house, longer than I've ever stayed anywhere; it comes to bear, being a military brat. A sort of minor epiphany. I'd strapped on my headlamp, gone out to the woodshed for an armload of wood; brisk, but nothing special, and there's a mink, all sleek and irritated. I think she's eating grubs from under the bark of the red maple, but she seems embarrassed to not be killing chickens. Mostly, what minks do, is kill chickens.