Small Dramas

Life is too much. Rodney shows up then disappears until after one, and brings back a guy, Danny, with a small tractor. I have no idea what I'm paying for this and it bothers me that R brought someone else to my place. An ex-prison guard who smokes copious amounts of ganja. A small tractor with a small rear blade and they rip up the brush. It's an ugly sight but it's needed to be done for several years. It's brutal, and it's going to be a very muddy winter and spring because bare ground has been exposed for the first time in 15 years. Still, I'll have a fire-break, and be able to drive to the back door which will be handy for trading out refrigerators and laying in supplies. The driveway bifurcation, that allows access to the back of the woodshed, would have taken me a day to clear, is done in fifteen minutes. The back porch is clear, the side yard is clear. They got rid of the dirt-pile, dug out for the cistern, and I had never thought that would be gone. Then spend an hour clearing in front of the house. Ryan walks over, to see what's happening. Chaos. I had forgotten the electric line to the print-shop and it gets severed. Danny and Rodney leave, after coming inside for a drink. Kinsey comes over, to find Ryan. Everyone gone, the quiet was shocking; I ate an omelet and took a nap. Only actually four hours of intense activity, but I find it taxing. Rodney wants to get the floor insulated, which I want too, but I don't need this whole best buddy thing. I'd like his help, sure, and I'd pay for that, but I don't need someone making demands on my time. If I pay someone to clear brush for me, it is specifically so that I don't have to clear the brush, it doesn't signify that we're comrades-in-arms. Devin is beginning to show, she's six months pregnant, I've been talking about the benefits of vaginal birth with her. The way that last layer of protection was slathered in secretions. Trans-dermal. It's certainly true that I could never be pope, or even a justice on the Supreme Court (I'd be a very good Supreme Court Justice), but I did think about running for a local judge-ship. I'd be a good judge because I'm an excellent listener. Up early, made salsa, then scrambled eggs with loose Chorizo sausage and a huge scoop of salsa on top, toast and bitter marmalade. As soon as it was light I took my travel mug of coffee outside, to survey the changes in scenery. Work to do, cleaning up the oddments, but I need to run to town for tobacco and whiskey, get some things to eat. An artichoke, some oysters, greens and salt-pork. There are four staff at the pub, I get my usual draft, given a sample of the new mushroom soup (which is quite good); and three of the four confide that the new changes the owner wants to make happen are ill-considered. It's interesting that I get pretty much the same story from all three of them. You don't usually get that kind of consensus on anything. I told them all to compromise in the short term, but look for other work. I learned from Joel: first you quit, then you think about the consequences. But it's good to know where you might ply your trade. I can make books, I can make paper, I can make ink, I do restoration binding; I've been told I'm a pretty good carpenter ( I think that's an exaggeration) but I am a very good cook.