Cornbread

I'll have to hike in with what I need, that much is obvious, I'll make a bean soup and cornbread. I'd like to stay home Tuesday, but I can't, if the museum is to open, because I'd be the only staff person there. This has spun out of control. Four days in a row, I'm the only staff person there, everyone else is either other occupied or MIA. It's cool, but I'm ready for a break. I need to chop wood and gather kindling; rich people drive me crazy with their various concerns. Not to sound elitist, but it all comes down to bean soup and cornbread. I love the way Wyeth focusses on almost nothing. Two boots trampling a weed, a laundry basket, I need a third thing, the way he always places the horizon line high in the image. Meaning is a mystery. I only started this whole Wyeth thing because I knew he and Carter had met. Tenuous connections. Glenn and I, for instance, we go way back, before the beginning, often try to define things by how they appear. I caution you, nothing is what it seems.