Chantarelles

Dinner guests are especially welcome when they come bearing gifts. Mike had a jar of pickled okra and a little jar of smoked mussels, Shaun had a half bottle of Jameson for me to carry on a couple of hikes, but Drew had brought me a big bag of chantarelles. They're in the food dryer now, as I actually prefer them dried and reconstituted in white wine. I'll have an omelet tomorrow. We drank an entire bottle of Buffalo Trace last night, and I was a bit disoriented this morning when the phone rang. The library, and they had a book for me. I cleaned up from the dinner party, then cleaned myself and shaved; a lovely day, cooler, which doesn't bode well (this new pattern, the polar vortex, brings below zero temps in winter), but it's a nice day to drive along the river, with the windows down, smelling the roadside flowers. Got my book, a tome of Faulkner short stories, and stopped at the pub for a snack and a pint. They have an appetizer that I often get there, salsa and pita chips, when I'm between meals. Shaun came in, and while we were talking, Sara came in, in town for a week and thought I might be there. I introduced them, but then Shaun had to leave, closing on a house or something. Sara and I talked for an hour, and it was wonderful. Stopped at the museum, to touch base with TR, and had very brief conversations with Charlotte and Mark. What I liked most, about being at the museum, with Sara and D, is that we all had fun. The new guard doesn't see fun as part of the equation. It's a business, goddamn, get to the bottom line. If all your daughters are prostitutes, you should be able to make a profit. My first impulse is to add several commas, to clarify a situation. I can't imagine that Joel, for instance, would give a shit, in the midst of dialysis, but he calls to clarify a point. What can I say? I have good friends that keep me out of trouble.