Bonneville Salt Flats. A highway rest stop to celebrate the Measured Mile and the speed records, plus the completion of the cross-continent telephone line. Behind the the tree the flat expanse of whiteness. Something murky, but not moist in the air. It confised the camera's autofocus and many of the pictures are blurry. This one focused on the tree. It has only a couple of scrawny companions at the rest stop. It's not a good land for trees.
Tonight we are back home and naturally the floors aren't done, even the new plywood isn't down. He's an optimistic estimator and also ran into some more termite damage. So he'shaving to repair some parts of the subfloor. Before this I though a subfloor had only one layer. Now I see it: a layer one inch pine, 5 3/8 inch wide tongue and groove and a layer of plywood on top of that to support the Duraceramic tiles we hope to have put down. All the furniture is in the living room. The refrigerator is in the front hall on an extension cord. We can't use the stove or the washing machine--they're not hooked up. Can;t watch TV, We lying on the bed and reading, with the dogs on us in a pile. It's actually sort of pleasant. I cannot get to my portfolio for my printmaking class tomorrow. I hope to borrow paper from Patricia, and maybe make a styrofoam plate. But at least, seeing what others are doing is very interesting. These are the best art classes I've had.
The new Gettysberg Review has four poems by David Kirby. I was laughing out loud reading them. I was so pleased to find him again, the author of the book Sarah Bernhardt's leg. Good night.
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