Saint Michael

M and his son show up with modem, Alan installs it, everything works, back in the saddle. That sequence would be sub-titled "The Lost Weeks" and I should soon have back-up 5633's against an uncertain future. Makes me smile. I feel a little uneasy about readers having to catch-up; Michael, for instance, will have to read all of it to his mom (and she is the main reason we're back up to speed), because she nagged him. God Bless You Mrs. Barnhart. Great fun deleting emails and responding to a couple of things. And good to know that I'm back to square one. I accept misdirection as a matter of course. Christine, it's number 95 in the "Cistern", I love that page; that entire book, actually, is a marvel to me. I can't believe I wrote it. Let me know what line it is that you thought about using. The Utah kid sent a twenty dollar bill and a birthday card, and there was a fairly desperate email from western Colorado that I just deleted. Any advice I could give is corrupt and ironic. I don't believe in anything, but I do expect that tadpoles will emerge from eggs, that leaves spring from buds, that the sun will shine tomorrow on a slightly different configuration. You can't help but notice. I enjoyed M and Alan, sent them off with books but feel bad that I didn't offer them food. I was so goddamn excited about being reconnected that I could hardly contain myself. They were hardly out the door before I verified that the back-log had been sent, and that I was, more or less, on solid ground. Black Dell thrives on confusion, not that I'd have it any other way. The actual state of things. But she annoys me, with her demands. I've lived too long alone to be called to task. It doesn't actually matter whether you wash that dish tonight. I've learned you can put off anything almost indefinitely. Time, and factoring, become issues. Summer is over before it starts. Next winter, my immediate concern, is almost here. Firewood, the larder, get your house in order. A black squirrel today, a rare sighting and never on the ridge, I've only seen them down in the forest on Mackletree. Melanism. Genetic drift. I watch the squirrel for an hour, following through the woods because I'd like to know where it lives, so I could watch it in winter, against the snow. A quick run into town, library, pub, Kroger, but I had left my list and tobacco at home, so I didn't linger, and, of course, forgot almost everything. Sidetracked in the sausage section of the meat cases. Cincy was a big sausage town, it preceded Chicago as hog-butcher to the world, and there was a hot Italian on sale. A nice salad with chilled chickpeas and goat cheese, and a couple of split fried sausages with a horseradish mustard sauce. There are some very good frozen biscuits, I know this is sacrilege, but my Mom turned me on to them, that are available now, you can toast a couple in the toaster oven. Hot bread to soak up juice is a part of the southern ethos. My Mom, and Aunt Sadie, made the best biscuits in the world, so this was a big leap for me, and I still make biscuits, when the oven is hot, that would easily win regional awards, but in the summer, when I don't want to start a fire, it's nice to have a decent biscuit to sop up the juice. The juice is the deal. Sopping up juice is something I do religiously. A minor form of divination. Finally got through the backlog of messages. Several people were glad I was online again. A round of applause for Mrs. Barnhart. I started rereading "The Song Of The Dodo" before dawn this morning, and read it all day. In the intervening years I'd read widely in the field, books and articles, that Quammen had mentioned, and I understand his book much better now. An excellent day. A good day for mushrooms. I put the fresh ones in the dehydrator and reconstitute a few dried ones in sherry. I actually prefer them reconstituted, then I can make a reduction of the soaking liquid with brown butter, which gives me something to sop-up at the end. For the next six weeks, I'll eat mushrooms on broiled tomatoes on toast as many times as I can. Often with a fried egg on top. Very fresh eggs. Sweet corn is in and I buy a dozen ears ($2.00) from a roadside stand whenever I go to town. Mostly I make fried corn, which is just a creamed corn heated in butter. Six ears is probably a double serving, cut off the kernels with a sharp knife, then scrap off the rest off the meat and juice with the back of a table-knife, fry it in butter and add a minced small onion or shallot, a great side-dish, but also good on toast with a fried egg on top. What isn't good with a fried egg on top? When I was in college, I made donuts on the night shift, and I always preferred the plain cake donut, I've never much cared for sugar, but the cake donut could be topped with a fried egg or used as a sop for errant juices. Try that with a glazed donut. You end up with nothing on your fork.