Micro Bursts

I guess the storm on Wednesday did some damage. It nearly took out the driveway, and we have to spend a day down there, digging out the catchments, but I'm going north and B is headed to a family reunion at the same time. We'll do it when we get back. Perfect timing, I got my three bills paid and in the mail (Visa, power and phone), and stopped by the museum to see the first major show that I didn't hang. A good show, well hung, just a couple of mistakes that I could see. TR printed out my Goggle Map for the trip, so I can be reimbursed for mileage, and that's the last thing on my list, except for moving a few things around (getting books off the floor in case a derecho took out a window and water blew in) and packing, which in my case is fairly simple. I'll take my ratty old sports coat, it looks fine with a denim shirt or a black tee-shirt, and I bought some new shoes, as work boots seemed inappropriate. I wrote my group, whatever I'm to call them, a welcome note, and that was fun, actually. Just a few lines, but I tried to strike a very casual tone. I write so slowly. It took an hour to say hello. I mistakenly sent out a fragment, a partial paragraph, when I sent out the welcome note to the group. I apologize. Half formed thoughts. My level of control is minimal. TR swears he can get me into a better format, and I don't doubt that it's true, though 'better' is a relative term. When I came back in, I was driving slowly, windows down, smelling fecund spring. Leaf rot with a top note of green. The dry-down is fresh cut hay with a hint of patchouli. Drove down to B's house, where I knew he'd be, and he was tearing rotten floor-boards off the back porch. He got me a cold beer, tickled with the fact that he now had refrigeration, electricity; a pale ale, hops add that level of astringency, like sucking on an acorn or kissing a railroad tie. Memory plays a part in here, but memory is not to be trusted. I only thought I remembered. An icy spiculae. I would neither deny or admit any hanky-panky.