Good Day

Kim e-mailed that I should support the off-end of the lug-wrench, which would free up a more substantial kick. It takes a while, rebuilding the support pile and trying to not break my ankle, but I get it done and head to town. Stop at the library then on to Knittle's where we find the tires and order them, then the bank, then Kroger where I spend a considerable chunk of change on supplies. When I get home I realize I'm exhausted. Stoke up the fire and cook a large breakfast, potatoes, sausage, eggs, toast. Changed into slippers and peeled off the overalls, can't believe I went to town looking like what I must have looked like. My arms and shoulders are sore, my legs are sore, and there's a stiffness in my lower back; but the Jeep is back on the road, I have fresh vegetables and a couple of pieces of meat in the freezer. I have a case of whiskey, plenty of water, and a back-up bag of tobacco with extra papers. And I don't have to be anywhere. One more trip to town, for the tires and shocks, and I'll be set. I start another list, of things I forgot. I need to either make or buy a pesto, and get some dried shells, the very best vehicle for pesto. It makes a good cold-weather lunch. I need to replenish the canned sardine supply. The ridge, mid-winter, you're not going to be around other people; a sardine sandwich, with a slice of raw onion, can be a grand occasion. I usually pair it with a dirty martini. It's a complete affectation, but no one else has actually ever seen it, so it might never have happened. I know it did, or does, but where's the proof in that? Raised a country boy, switchel in a crock pot in the shade of a sycamore at the edge of the creek, the nature of reality was a mule's ass and a straight furrow. It still is. Whatever flank, and a straight line drawn between two points. It's how you navigate. I speak with the authority of someone who took a week to change a tire.