After an aggravating day littered with work and personal irritations, I improved my mood mightily by forgetting everything but Tom for a few hours. We strolled around the corner and ate a beautiful meal at Woodford's bar--duck-liver pate, crab cakes, mussels--then wandered back home and cuddled up under the couch blanket and watched some very excellent World Series pitching by kids younger than our own children.
So now I feel I can enter the weekend without grouchiness. It's going to rain all day and into the night, and I've got a bunch of reading to do, plus the usual housework. And thank God, the construction guys have gone home for a couple of days. The road turmoil has been horrible, though also very distracting, as I have gotten obsessed by the genius skills of one particular backhoe operator. When the young men on the crew drive the backhoe, it's just a machine ripping up pavement. But when the genius drives it, the backhoe becomes an animal--delicately shifting small heaps of sand, burrowing tenderly into the asphalt, hoisting heavy sewer mains with the innate joy of its species. I keep wanting to rush out during coffee breaks and shake the driver's hand and exclaim about his brilliance. But of course I restrain myself. Nobody needs to be embarrassed by a crazy neighbor lady.
I discussed my fascination over dinner, and Tom agreed that some machine operators are indeed brilliant. And he mentioned a man at his job site, who is installing stainless-steel trim on an old stone house . . . fusing seams, cutting bolts, so that the final product is smooth and flawless and stunning. The masons and carpenters are open-mouthed in admiration.
Honey I’d split your kindling
clean & bright
if you was mine
[from Hayden Carruth's "Green Mountain Idyll"]