A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.
-Robert A. Heinlein

I need to butcher a hog, set a bone, and die gallantly. I have also in the last month: laid sod, built a chicken coop, hung art, wired and installed lighting, put in irrigation, moved houses. I've made prints for a gallery show, read on Pirate Radio. And I did laundry, twice.

 

Sunday's dream

My boat was somehow disabled and I was with a younger brother who sensed something and wanted to leave this weird village where we had moored.
A priest stood on the water a dozen yards away.
We were then in some oak hall, with a central large room and office doors all around the rectangular area, maybe with a couple of steps, a sort of assembly place.
Kind of a courthouse, customs house(?) I imagine as there was a judge who had the front office by the main entry.
There was some delay in getting the boat fixed, but I sensed that they were working on it or actively seeming to, that they wanted us to stay but were uncertain of some authorization and were therefore 'putting us off,' but reticent themselves in how to proceed. Very tenuous, but mildly welcoming. We were not nervous at first, felt only mild discomfort, which I attributed to being disabled in an unknown port.

The court secretary was efficient but overworked and could only check with those she had already consulted about our predicament. We were sometimes back in the boat - there were odd visitations, but no one entered our space. All in the village were aware of us, but we were being left alone. For someone or something...to be determined.
The priest still stood on the water and people still occasionally came by our vessel, which was becoming less of a boat on the water than a room in a field. People would show up at the window, ask how we were. Darrell the town drunk was fiddling with something out at the curb.

I had had enough; the inactivity and village creepiness had gotten to me. I sensed they were too meek to make a bold gesture, but given the opportunity to bite, they would. "Let's get out of here," I said to brother. We took nothing, leaving everything and the town drunk playing with his shoes and the priest still standing out in the brackish water.

One last trip by the courthouse revealed that the judge was actually a rock, about the size of a roll of sourdough bread with a face painted crudely on it. The court reporter made no acknowledgement or apology, and continued to move around on some unspecific duty.

There was going to be a performance and we were above tiers of seats in some sort of outside, grassy amphitheater with bleacher seating. I guess brother had gotten the hang of this place, and went down a couple of rows and sat down. The person next to him and he chatted, then while the other person extended his neck to look down below, brother bit in and sucked. This seemed as natural as a handshake, and I decided to move on, hunching my shoulders and lifting my collar as I just wasn't comfortable being bitten myself, just then.