"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding watercolor, metaphors and journalism, for readers in more than 150 countries.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A hemorrhoid day
'Twas a day of moving furniture, and working in the garage, where the Geographics are stored. Susan's cedar chest is out there, and I'd forgotten what was in it. Guess? Geographics. Plus others in plastic tubs that I shouldn't be moving, including one that must have weighed --I'm afraid to guess. I can already feel it in my back and calves, lifting it from the concrete floor to the top of this old chest of drawers. Which means I'll feel it elsewhere in a day or two. At least it proves my heart is healthy for an old fart.
I hauled this long chest of drawers out to garage, after moving stacks of cardboard boxes cluttered along the wall to the floor to make room for it. Why? We bought a day bed for the office (bedroom #2) where Susan's computer sits on a fancy desk that I'm typing on at the moment. To get that in place, we needed to move her grandmother's couch into our bedroom. To do that, I had to lift the heavy analog TV to the floor and move the chest of drawers into the garage. The day bed will be nice, and not expensive, except for my muscles and hemorrhoids. Susan wanted me to get help to move the furniture. Come on, I said, it's not heavy. No, its not. But I'm not too smart either. The TV and Geographics I had to move several times were.
At any rate-or as my uncle Champ used to say, "Anyway,"--I got it done. It included some interesting variations on profanity as I moved the couch through two doorways and a narrow hall. here were the Geographics, which I've written about recently. Looking at all "those nice bright covers," how can I throw them away? I can't. So they all went back in various containers, up against the wall of the garage. And the one huge plastic tub. Just more neatly--along with camping gear, paintings, etc. I ended up putting all my stored Harry Potter books, lots of John McPhee (my favorite author other than Conrad and Whitman), into the drawers of the chest. I brought a bunch of poetry books inside. Poetry deserves a special place in my house. I'll tell you about those books later. I also have more art hanging on the walls of the garage than any garage in America. Why? No place to put the damned stuff, any more than the Geographics. More on that, later too.
Why are you reading this stuff? Don't we all have common emotions and adventures--the more we have in common the closer we are--sometimes in ways we don't even realize until we lose, or almost lose them? And then, there are the hemorrhoids.