Sleeping Weather

Yesterday Juan and Flavio (Flah-vio) installed the sump pump in the basement. Looks like a well in the floor, including water in the bottom. The house seems to have been built over a natural spring. The basement floor was wet by the time they got through drilling. They still have to bury the pipe outside.

I love to listen to the Mexicans talk--or to Juan. Flavio doesn't say anything. You have to listen to a whole paragraph or two to gather what Juan is saying, with about two English words per sentence in this swift hysterical-sounding patois, with hand gestures sketching the air. He seems to think the louder and faster he talks, the more likely one is to understand him. Which may be true. His English words all seem to be nouns, pronouns and adjectives; I know it's harder to learn verbs, and I guess English verbs with all their ramifications are probably the hardest language to learn.

Anyway, I want to go back to bed, with the thunder rolling and the rain pattering. But I guess there's enough to do today to keep me awake the rest of the day.

Got an email from Jim Reed, a "call for works" for next spring's Birmingham Arts Journal. I think I'll send them a whole bunch of stuff. A poem, a play, a story or vignette, maybe a drawing or a quilt. Maybe some of the remaining junk from the basement. No, wait, I'm thinking of the Exchange Club.