[88] Screed City

[88]

01/30/2022 Sunday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

I mean, I don't even know. I have forgotten how to pack. I want to bring some extra stuff this time, so I have been taking it slow. Edging, kind of. I mean, I have just been circling and circling, waiting for the release. But it is almost impossible. I want to bring the Publisher's guitar, Professor Curly's computer, the one with the recording stuff, the Sequestered video stuff. I mean, the new stuff. The Christmas stuff. And it really isn't a question of packing, it is more a question of remembering to put it all in the car at 5a tomorrow. After what I am sure will be a lousy and useless night of sleep. I mean, it is 7p now. I meant to be done two hours ago. But I made the mistake of having a look-see into my hot sauces, and guess what? Some of those assholes were starting to mold. I mean, weeks of work. But not all is lost. I removed the mold and pasteurized the shit. But still, I didn't have a chance to bottle it, so I left it in the fridge. I hope it stays good. Otherwise I will have to do it all over again next weekend. I also added the bubbling sugars to the Ticklers. We will see about that when I get back. It could be a giant bust. I mean, the stuff smells really good when you get into it, not so much when you catch a stinky whiff from the bung hole. I mean, I really don't even know what I mean, I mean, it could just be crap and I have to start all over again. But such is life these days. I mean, all of life is edging at the moment. Nothing but time, and then, WHAMMO! Suddenly there is weeks of work and readings and sugaring and books on tape and edits and designs. It's just too much! I need a vacation from the mere idea of working. I mean, stupid money. Can't one of you just write me a check for $20,000 dollars? That would be nice. Thanks!

Part of the problem was yesterday. Yesterday was so dark, so gray, so Vermont-style that I almost croaked from inertia. For some reason the big storm the hit the North-East just EDGED Vermont. I am serious. All we got was freezing winds and bad attitudes from the thing. I mean, I went out to get some supplies for the week and nearly died putting gas into Junior Mint. It was abysmal. I woke up cranky and just got crankier as the day went on. We were supposed to replace the tap line at the Compound, but it was impossible. It was just too awful out. I mean, maybe in the olden days we would have barreled through, or maybe not. I think they used to just use buckets back then, so we would have been forced to do this work in the Fall like we should have now, but that didn't happen. Instead what happened was we did it today. Kind of. We did what we could. There is still so much more to do. And if we aren't ready by the time the weather is perfect in March, all that liquid gold will just have to hang out in the tree trunks for another year. My poor pancakes.

Grit had a pretty good joke today:

"What's tuna fish plus tuna fish?"

"Four-Fish."

The work was interesting today. Replacing the main line. Or most of it. We should have bought twice as much hose the other day. Sadly. Alas, we did what we could with what we had. The snow was deep. I wore the show shoes. Scott drove the tractor. The Publisher did some thigh deep snip and clip. Grit told good jokes. Putney and Lovey dog found all the trees. Using their barks. I mean, they just barked at stuff. Harassed trucks that drove up the road. We had to splice the new hose to the old hose and drag it behind the tractor up the hill. It was slow going. Tensions flared. Hose-wise. Scott yanking from the front with the tractor, I followed the splice through the trees with my snowshoes. The Publisher followed behind with the coil. Before that we had to cut all the ties from the tension wire. Or whatever you call it. The wire that holds the hose up at an angle so the tree juices can flow into the great big bucket at the bottom of the hill. Then we had lunch. Scott and I had roast beef with fried bacon sandys. The Publisher had a wrap. Grit had a ham sandwich. There was salt and vinegar potato chips. Maple syrup soda pop. Which, the Publisher bought us as an incentive to keep working towards the end goal. Because with our fresh pancake sauce we can make things like that. That and more hot sauces.

I mean, there is still so much to do. Scott was going to buck the logs so I can chop wood for the reducer when I get some time in February. The reducer needs to be cleaned. The great big jugs need to get cleaned. I need to learn how to run the reducer. The Publisher needs to learn how to carry a 50 gallon? 100 gallon? I forget how big the jugs are. Triple E's? I mean, the great big jugs filled with pancake juice, up Fassett Hill and down the driveway and around the goat enclosures and up to the boiler without spilling a single drop. I mean, I can't do it. I don't know how to drive a tractor, I suppose I would figure it out, but the learning curve is a little steep on this one. I mean, it's not like driving a fork lift in a warehouse. Which, I can do. I mean, there is the pump that needs some attention. I remember that from last year. I am not saying that I truly understand it, but I could trouble shoot it with some confidence. I mean, I know how to read a hydrometer. Now. Only because of the Ticklers I have been making. And, I mean, it turns out that I don't really need to use one for what I am doing. It is a simple math problem:

Cook 15 oz of table sugar in half a gallon of water for 20 minutes. Let it cool. Pour it into a gallon jug. Fill the jug up with water. Add two tablespoons of high yield yeast. Put the airlock thing on it. Make sure there is water in the right place. For that thing. Then let the stuff ferment for seven days. In the end you will have a gallon of 5% alcohol water. What you do with it after that is up to you. I transferred it to some special jugs I bought at TJ Maxx. Poured a tablespoon of sugar mixed with water into each one. And, in theory, when I get back I will have bubbly Ticklers. Oh, I also put some cranberry flavoring into the jugs. I am pretty sure I didn't use enough, but we will see. I can always buy a lime if I need to. You know? To give it some zest.

I mean, I am kind of upset that my hot sauces were molding. I didn't use enough water. I should have used more water. Not only that, but I used too much salt. Which made me make some decisions that I wish I wouldn't have had to make. I mean, my intention was never to remove the fermenting juices. Well, not all of them. But I had to. I mean, I pasteurized those juices as well. Put them in the fridge. I can reuse them when I begin a new batch. Which, who know? Maybe that will be a thing? The juices smell nice. Maybe it will work like a sourdough starter works? I am not holding my breath, but I feel like this is how things get started. Grow over time. Become more complex. I mean, my biggest regret with the hot sauces, really, is using a single fucking carrot in the operation. I mean, I don't like carrots. I really don't. Why in the name of the lord would I add them to my hot sauces? I mean, if they were good carrots. Like sweet ones that somebody grew in their garden or something. But the ones I used were pure crap. And since the mold came around, they didn't even get a chance to mature. I mean, now the hot sauces have a hint of carrot in them. And you know what I think of that? It stinks.

I don't know how I will get any sleep tonight. I am sure to be anxious about waking up. Which, in a normal world would be whatever. But in this world, the world where you have to get on the road by 520a so you can drive an hour and forty minutes to the shop and then get in a van and drive five hours to Buffalo, New York? And then, when you get there, you go into some dusty old theater in some weird-ass high school and start cutting down line sets and stage rigging and then you drive to the Holiday Inn and check into your hotel room. And then try and get some actual work done, but you won't. You'll just have a few Ticklers, tickle the ivories, be exhausted, fall asleep by 9p and then wake up at 3a because you are worried that you will oversleep. And then go back to the high school and cut more wire rope and lug stage weights around and cut pipe and it will be loud and dirty and depressing. And all you can do is just count the money that is going into your bank account. Wondering if it is all worth it. I mean, I wonder if in ten years, or whatever, I will look back at this time and think:

"You know? I really did a great service to Society spending my time refurbishing that high school theater in Buffalo, New York."

I mean, work is work. That is not what I am saying. And high schools need clean and safe stage rigging. That is not my point. My point is, for myself, did I really do the most with what I was given? Or did I just do the easiest thing for the largest amount of money? I mean, I don't know. I really don't. If I was to spend next week in Vermont there is all sorts of things that I could be working on. The sap line for instance. But, I have spent the last six weeks basically home-bound and furiously typing on the computer. I mean, that is all good and all, but sometimes you need a break from the break that is a break from the other break. I mean, maybe I am thinking about it all wrong. I should just shut up and hit the sack and deal with tomorrow when it comes. But still. There comes a point. A point when all the money in the world won't change the fact that you don't want to do something. And you are kind of afraid that your time is limited on this world, and maybe, just maybe, hauling ass to Buffalo, New York is a great big waste of time. I mean, in two weeks from now when the paycheck hits my bank account and I won't feel so broke anymore, that will be nice. But until that happens, I mean, C'mon! Let's goooo! Just paint it black!!!

The plants are watered. I will leave the temperature settings the same. I suppose I could lower the upstairs a couple degrees. But I won't. 66F versus 65F won't change things. The bottom floor will never do what I want it to do anyway. Not until there are some structural changes that I will insist upon when it gets warm again. Work I will have to do myself, but I will get the New Landlord to pay for it. I mean, not really, I will just trade the huge gas bill for my labor, but still. At least it will be a one to one thing. And since I can never get the temperature on the first floor above 64F anyway, I mean, I don't want the pipes to freeze. Not because I care if the pipes freeze in the grand scheme of things, I mean, I rent this place, that is not my problem, however, I do live here, so it very much is my problem. I mean, frozen pipes would force the New Landlord to rethink his approach to this house, but at what cost? My cost, that is what.

Anyway. I should have saved Grits joke for the end. That way I could leave this on a positive note. But it is too late for that now. I mean, I got my coffee made for the morning. I am bringing a water boiler to the hotel room this time. I will be able to make fresh coffee every day. That is good. I made nine burritos for the week. Ground beef, black beans and cheese, onions and jalapeños. My own special secret hot sauces. Juicy Joe's Slippery Salt-Wipe and FunBunz brand. We'll see. They might be pretty tasty. I just need to remember to remove them from the fridge in the morning and put them in my bag. If I forget I will be eating meat pucks and microwave burritos for the next five days. I mean, hotel living. Am I right?

Smell ya in a couple days! Wish me luck.