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April 06, 2006
Anticipating Tomorrow
I'm lying here in bed as the hour approaches 11:00, which experience suggests is the best time for going to sleep if I am to feel in any way prepared to face the day tomorrow. It is unlikely that I will make the deadline, given that it seems to take a full hour, once the intention of moving toward bedtime has been announced, for the delicate unwinding of the day to yield to the actual act of sleeping. There are teeth to brush and the dog to let out for a final pee. Robbi must be persuaded to abandon whatever enterprise she has devoted herself to and join me in the bed. I must record my final thoughts, fold up my computer. We must each recount and record our five favorite things of the day in the small red book that sits by Robbi's bedside. I have once or twice been forced, by necessity, to record our favorite things, but there is no jury who would agree that my handwriting even approximates legible, while hers is so fine and precise as to approximate type. I have to move the pillows and blankets just so, and adjust the cats, and put in my earplugs, and have a final drink of water. And so on. Before I can finally drift off to sleep. For a while. And then I'll have to pee. And then the dog will have to pee. And then I'll need a drink of water. And so then I'll have to pee again. It is a restless existence, being me.
Eventually the morning comes. When morning comes tomorrow, I will be glad, for tomorrow, at the very end of tomorrow, we are heading to Chestertown for our second weekend of barn cleaning. We made great strides last weekend, removing large gratifying quantities of materials from our soon-to-be living space: packing popcorn, cardboard boxes, piles of wooden shutters. We're getting to the nitty gritty now, where ancient belongings will have to be judged as treasure or junk and piles will have to be made to determine what heads to auction, storage, or dumpster.
And then there is the pugging, part two. Perhaps Robbi will post some pictures of last week's activities. Bob and I got approximately halfway through our project of reviving thousands of pounds of desiccated clay remainders, the sad chaff of Seiko's amazing work. This weekend we'll tackle the rest. Some potters throw their extras away. Bob believes in recycling, in spite of its being a slow and thankless ordeal, because the pugging is part of the process of pottery. It's important to him. And I admire that a great deal. We had a good time, surprisingly, just going through the motions of running old clay through the mill (kind of like a sausage grinder) again and again until it came out smooth and airless (there is a vacuum involved) and ready for Seiko's masterful hands to make into something rare and wonderful.
Time for bed now. All is lost. I'll be lucky to make it by midnight at this point. But I'm banking on there being pie on Saturday night, purchased from the Mennonites in the village square as part of the Saturday morning farmers' market. I'm moving to a place with a village square and a Saturday morning farmers' market. Can you hear the glee? I am smiling a mile wide.
Posted by bogenamp at April 6, 2006 10:34 PM