Landform and Drainage

Glenn came over from the lodge late morning, and I'd performed my ablutions. When I'd finished a few things, cleaning out the passenger seat of junk mail, dishes from last night, we were off to town, stopped at the pub, for a beer and lunch, then at Kroger for a few things, prepping for a couple of guests. Ribs tomorrow, with Drew and B. B agreed to make a loaf of bread, Drew is bringing another bottle of wine. Glenn had brought a bottle from the vineyard where he and Linda pick grapes for a month in the fall. All I have to do is cook the ribs, which I certainly can do. Of course B will make a loaf of bread, though it is not nothing, but he does it well and wants to contribute, his answer is immediate, as is Drew's to bring a bottle of wine. Tomorrow night should be good. Will be, actually, because it's a great chemical mix, history, drainage, and whether or not. Tuesday night is B and Drew and ribs, slaw and bread; Wednesday night is TR and a pork tenderloin, tomatoes and mozzarella, sweet potatoes; Thursday we eat a late lunch at the pub, go down to B's and listen to home-grown music, with Ronnie, Kevin, and B on bass. Great conversations, music, poetry, state of the electorate, world history, life on the creek. Glenn comes back in with me, after the improv music session, even though it means another walk down the driveway by flashlight. Uncommonly, we talk politics. He and Linda will vote by mail and be in France when the election comes down, not a bad strategy, and I'll be replacing the back thresh-hold, which rotted through, or replacing the trap for the kitchen sink. I have a cushion, several years actually, that I've squirreled aside, rice and beans, some seeds; a slightly Mormon drift; Boy Scout crap, be prepared. Glenn left right from the lodge, so I slept in, made a nice omelet with goat cheese, read for an hour, then went to town. He paid for everything while he was here, and I needed some supplies, another ream of paper, a couple of sweet potatoes; and I wanted to spend an hour at the library, getting back into my groove, flirting with the reference librarian while we tracked down a book; and I didn't want it on his tab. Cory had two new beers on tap and he wanted my opinion, happy to sample a micro-brew, I voted against the lemon shanty and for the hoppy porter that was like an IPA with body. I'd already eaten in town, still stopped for a large vanilla shake, and got home, primed to write, when a vicious thunderstorm moved through. Mid-afternoon dark. Pelting rain. I listen to the radio until the power goes out. I think about guard-rails, because Glenn said there was a crew, out on 125, and we passed them several times. They had a trailer mounted stop light they moved along, photovoltaic, to control traffic, and they were very efficient. Still, there were side roads and driveways, cars going the wrong way, so it became an adventure.