Keeping A Record

Remember when having a picture of something involved film? Remember the furor over instant photography where the film developed right after you took it? But then to share it you had to send it off for reprints? These vintage cameras were for sale the other day in Uncommon Objects on South Congress. (For a reverie on the Polaroid Camera from five years ago see here.)

Remember when words on paper meant longhand, typing or typesetting?

Well, now it should be easier to keep a record of your life, right? Digital stills, digital videos, digital voice recorders; digital scanners to convert those old pictures and slides to pixels; computers to process our words and blogging sites like this to format them, date them, search them; and social media preserving your real-time comments and making sharing what you're doing so easy.

But somehow I still lose track of my life. Puzzle over what I did yesterday and wonder why I don't have a photo of something.

There is a comfort in it sometimes, though. That one can still get lost. Hide a bit from others and be a recluse.

Today is the first day of Holidailies. Drivel like this is supposed to be my gift to you my reader. But if it fell short just see what other participants have written that might enhance your day. I guess I'll be a little exposed here for the next month. However, I'm not going to be doing a blow-by-blow diary of my activities here most days. Just little ramblings. I have been keeping a diary offline lately. I used it yesterday to figure out when I last got a haircut. And so it goes.

Do What You Please

One of the great things about retirement is just getting up on a Friday and doing whatever you please. Of course, you are influenced by a lot of things: what needs doing, how you are feeling, what the weather is like and what those around you are doing. I might have taken a walk with himself but he decided that he really must finish a piece of writing. It is giving him trouble and he has been displacing by doing things like taking the recycling out and retrieving dry cleaning delivered to the front desk and sorting and starting the laundry. So I pitched in on the folding and such.

I had a little project going where I was repairing some bad labels in this blog and, while I was bringing up those entries, editing them and rereading them and selecting some of the pictures for a Pinterest board because I just got on that (I guess it's a social) network. I let myself finish that project. I felt like blogging in this space, but I told myself I wouldn't do that until I had checked up on all the financial accounts, made sure all the bills made sense and everything balanced. So, yeah, I did that and it's almost lunch time! (I was up before 8AM, I swear.)

So I'm letting myself write something here. But I'm thinking that what would really please me now is....lunch. I need to clean out the frig. Maybe if I eat up some leftovers that will be easier, huh?

I also wouldn't mind some exercise and, really, I might find the time to do some more housekeeping or plan a trip.

When I worked, the time to do whatever pleased me was very limited. When there are vast amounts of it, even when, of course, there are things that need attending to, sometimes it's really hard to choose. But, now, I think I'll find some lunch and read the papers while I eat it. Then, well, we'll see.

[Today's reflection is compliments of Tesoros Trading and a tree.]

In My Head

[Thanks to Off the Wall, a cool SoCo shop for this reflection shot.]

I find things to worry about. From the ridiculous to the sublime. What is happening here? What just happened there? What if this happens? Or that? When will I die? What if I run out of money? What if the world ends, more or less?

Meanwhile though I sometimes find a way to enjoy reading (and typing if not writing). I whack a tennis ball for a winner and am thrilled. I take a walk, looking at houses and lawns, dogs and other walkers as well as litter and blades of grass. I think: it's great to be alive, observing this moving this way. And really: who cares what's next.

Still...I'm going to get that air bag recall in my car looked at this week, I swear.

Stories We Tell Ourselves

We only deal in narrative, really. Oh, we think we are about emotions and feelings and such: love, hate, sadness, desire, curiosity, learning, meditating. But we can only think about these things, it seems, in the context of the stories we tell about ourselves and others, about places we moved through and things we've touched and seen and events we attended.

Today's picture is a shop window reflection at Uncommon Objects on South Congress. I've always been curious about the photos for sale in shops like this. Important enough to take and develop in that era before digital cameras and yet somehow leaving a family and its narrative and ending up in a bin for sale by an antique dealer. I've even bought a few in the past, thinking I'd just invent a narrative to go with it. Of course, inventing stories, fiction I think it's called, is something I've always had problems with because of the whole 'making it all up' part.

I've been taking a writing class ("Writing Your Life As A Woman" conducted by Dean Lofton) and what I notice in this class (which is focused on just getting the writing out and seeing where it goes, writing from prompts about real things in your life) is that no one just writes "I am happy" or "I was sad" or "I felt lost." Instead, they tell what they were doing constructing that emotion with details. Sometimes the listeners can't even tell that the scenes in the narrative create the emotion but suddenly there are tears from the reader.

I have my stock stories and the other day I was telling one of them and I started to wonder about some of the details. And then I realized that the detail didn't really matter as much as the reason why I hung on to that particular narrative. There was something I wanted to convey about my life in this world and the story was key to it. The story was neither fact nor fiction. It had an element of truth but the retelling made it important.

I frequently talk about the class I took before that was similar to the one Dean is conducting. I talk about how I enjoyed scribbling to writing prompts, reading and listening to others read and following up with writing 'sessions' with a friend. I tell about the hundreds of scraps of paper and dozens of notebooks of all sizes and shapes that I filled up with scribbles and notes and lists and have trouble tossing. (I'd done this for years before that class and have for years after.) I tell that because I want people to understand that I trust writing as therapy and a path to emotion. I sometimes mention that I didn't particularly care for that other instructor.

When I review those old writings, I sometimes say I'm sad or happy or excited. And that's the dullest thing in the world to read. But sometimes I read about the exact exercises I did, what I weighed, what I ate, what errands I did, where I went shopping and what I bought. I find a word I encountered written down, maybe with the definition, maybe not. I tell people I love words, but I tell them with stories. About trying to 'read' the dictionary. And about how when I was programming I'd be writing something and have to look up a word for some reason. (This was back before spell check, online dictionaries, etc.) And I would actually think: "That's the most fun I had all day long." It tells you something beyond "I love words."

Sometimes, though, we tell ourselves a story about a time in our lives that is not really false exactly but just wrong. If we wrote something down during that time, we might edit that story and make it a little more true to ourselves. Today I read some journal entries (actually a wad of yellow legal pad paper written on one side) from 1985. I remember at the time being sort of a lazy goof. Writing a journal when I should have been working. Stuff like that. But reading about the code I wrote and the thought I put into it and the things I was doing outside work and the thought that was going into my diet and exercise, I thought "Hmmm...maybe I had it together a little bit and had some good ideas. Maybe the fact that no product emerged to take the PC-DOS world by storm was not completely, entirely my fault." And yet, it's just a narrative either way. A way of putting the emotions of that time, and before, and since into a frame that I can relate to and that others can as well.

[Note: I'm determined to hit 'Publish' on this even though it doesn't seem to say much. The reason is that there are four unpublished drafts in Visible Woman before this one. The titles are: Free Ideas, People You Know, Ups and Downs and Exceedingly Random. They have semi-clever pictures attached. They languish. My three readers are disappointed. Just must publish something.]

Cutsomer Service

Is this a cigarette machine? Yes and no. Yeah, candy cigarettes. I took this at Big Top on South Congress, of course working hard to get my reflection Candy cigarettes. Innocuous enough I guess except for all that implication of imitating adults in a nasty habit, yada yada.

This is not a battle I'll fight. The youngsters I took to the candy store ignored the machine (and the chocolate bacon for that matter).

Big Top is delivering what they promise. Sweets of all stripes. Cheerful help. What more could you want?

Things are not so well in other customer service realms that I'm currently navigating. I called one provider of service for my old address, thinking I might migrate this service to my Dad's house. The result? They increased my bill for my current service. After threatening to do that and then getting management to say that they would not do that.

I had a 'final' walk through of our condo today. Yeah, they fixed some things. They broke some things in the process. They admitted they didn't fix the hot water heater, but they are 'having meetings' about 'final delivery from the contractor.' FFP said this meant that finger pointing was proceeding (at our expense?). You think?

I am so disappointed in the AV provider for the condo that I've decided not to spend any more money with them. (I'm already committed to an expensive set of surround speakers from them.) I have hired a consultant to help me buy components and flat screen TVs and to talk to the EPS guys. (Empty Polo Shirts.)

I had a very sad experience with the TV/Internet/Internet Phone provider (a monopoly for one year as I understand it). On my last foray to their call center, I was told that they had no record of my 'community' and therefore couldn't sell me anything. Today I bought a little LCD TV for the condo (online, Costco, selection assisted by my consultant above) and decided to try to schedule installation of the TV service. So, yeah. Four calls, or more, and every time I punched the button for 'new service' it hung up on me. I got through to a live person by selecting the choice for existing customers. I told them my problem. They transferred me....to the hang up service. I called back, navigated to get a live person and told them I'd run out of time to buy something from them but that the new service choice wasn't working. Later I called and got through. I ordered my service. The person didn't say anything about Internet or phone. She said I needed to pay the installer for installation and my converter. "Can I use a credit card?"

"No. You have to have a money order." I'm totally serious. What does she think I am, drug dealer or homeless person? Finally it became clear that I could give her a credit card.

When we checked out our condo, I asked if the Internet worked. (It is supposed to be "included with the homeowners fee.") She (it's always a she at this point, a she who takes off her spike heels before entering your hardwood abode) said she didn't know and couldn't test it! I said, "I brought a laptop, can I test it?" She agreed. It didn't work. After we'd been through the punch list with mixed results she took us to an EPS that we'd talked to before. He was in a state of high bewilderment. He said our Internet would be installed 'when we got our TV service.' We would have to be assigned a user ID and password. This last info really threw him and he kept repeating it. He was using a (wired) Internet connection in the sales office we were in and seemed amazed that it worked. I told him that I had sent an e-mail to someone he had recommended the other day. This was about enhanced Internet service. He did not remember telling me this nor who it could have been. I asked if I would REALLY get Internet service when I got TV. He said that his installer was 'pretty good' and he hoped he wouldn't be too busy.

Holy crap. Customer service is dead. Well, except for a couple of my consultants. Even the Apple 'Genius' managed to insult me with a "don't call me we will call you" attitude although they did get us a new hard drive in only a week's time. Customer service rule? BE a genius. Don't call yourself one, though.

None of this surprises me, of course. And my only bully pulpit is this blog. But, yeah. Customer service. Dead. Oh. But. We like the concierge folks we've met at our new condo. So far they seem concerned, competent and interested in service. There is that.

Texas Chic

Yes, faithful reader (or is it readers today as in more than one?) you have followed my fashion emergencies in this space before. Here and here and here and here and here and here....and on and on. Lot's of fashion talk for a girl with no fashion sense!

This long (as they all are in Austin in retirement) weekend is certainly presenting its challenges.

Tonight is not too bad. Business wear will do. One of my old custom made business suits and perhaps a little bit of fancy on the blouse will carry me through a reception for inaugurating a plaque in the Long Center and an Austin Cabaret Theatre performance.

Friday night is the big deal party at the Long Center. Black tie. Not that simple for women. I made a desultory stop at one shop to see if I could spark up my black tie sartorial choices. Then I decided: The Long Center is all about recycle and reuse. So, definitely, dig through the offerings of my own closet and should someone be rude enough to point out that they've seen my get-up (good Texas phrase for outfit!) before, I'll have a ready answer: "recycle, reduce, reuse." Would someone dare mention they'd seen an outfit before? Yes, it has happened!

Saturday night the Long Center stuff continues with a performance and the official costume instructions are 'Texas Chic.' I never know what that means.

The photo was taken of a vandalized window at Allen's Boots on South Congress on Saturday or Sunday. Once again, in spite of the Texas Chic thing, I won't buy boots. I have some bolo ties handy though.

Waiting

I appear to be intently waiting for my subject to give me the right expression. Only, I am the subject. Me and some inanimate objects. This was taken on South Congress in July 2004. No, I don't keep records that well. But the photos are in dated folders and the triangular shape is the distinctive shadow of a church that sits across from Uncommon Objects, which is just the sort of store that would have a window display like this.

We spend a lot of our time in life waiting. Waiting in doctors' offices, hospitals, dentists' offices is one of the worst waiting experiences. I often tell people that I don't do enough check-ups and stuff because I feel like I have been to the doctor or whatever but really I was taking someone else to appointments. Yesterday, I finally made it to get my eyes checked (after three tries). I am happy enough with my glasses. He recommended a slightly different prescription should I refill, but I'm not buying new glasses. I'm happy to say my retinas look normal. In the waiting room I read a magazine we probably have at home. I had to go back to the waiting room a couple of times to wait to dilate enough for this and that. Finally it was too uncomfortable to read. It took an hour to get all the tests and wait between stuff. They took scans with this high tech machine that would allow them to grind ultra-expensive (well $150 more than regular lenses) specs that are supposed to be much better for your vision. I was tempted, but decided not to do it now. So my eye check went fine and even if the check-up was a little overdue (it had been about sixteen months) it was really pretty timely. I drove home with one of those twenty-five cent dark film things stuck under my sunglasses and was still blinded by the sunlight. Still a few hours later I was back to normal. That would be my fill of well care (and doctors' offices) for a while if I had my way.

Today I'm going to be waiting with my dad to pre-register for surgery. Actually, he'll be doing more waiting than I will because I will be filling out the paperwork. Which is worse than waiting. You sit there, seething, knowing you have written up the same thing before and angry that they make you transcribe the drug list you have neatly typed into longhand so you have a chance to mess it up. And, by the way, there is no change since you gave it to the doctor and an assistant wrote it down longhand and then they next assistant said "I can't read Doris' handwriting." Or since you spent fifteen minutes reading the list to a hospital pharmacist on the phone.

Even if I have to spend time in waiting rooms, I'm glad I'm not the patient. I'm a medical nihilist. Always hoping the cure for anything is just waiting a bit. And, of course, the ultimate cure is there if you just wait.

Art

It's not usually obvious which shop is used for my reflective art, but in this one you can see that I've co-oped Austin Art Glass (SoCo) and its windows and parked cars and made yet another self-portrait.

I don't feel as old as I am. Which is (a) not old enough to apply for Social Security this year; (b) over three decades younger than my dad; but (c) old enough to know better.

Ah, yes. I should know better about so many things. In going through all the junk here, I've found some amazing stuff. I gave my good friend a couple of snapshots the other night. One was of a cat she had long ago (passed now) when it was a youngster and the other was of she and her sister at a party at our house. They both looked so young. It really took her aback to see that photo. Of course, it was taken over fifteen years ago, we figure.

I look younger in old pictures and maybe that's why I currently like these vague photos with a little radical windswept hair to give a younger look. Or so I tell myself. I've found it's easy to believe that people older than us age. What's hard is realizing that we do, too. And our friends. And especially people we encounter as children. Then you have those conversations like I had with my friend yesterday. She was describing her nephew's experience at college.

"You mean xxx?" I asked, making sure I had the right nephew and giving his name.

"Yes, Ketchup Boy. I think he's going to be twenty. Can that be right?" she answered.

"He's in college. Hmmm." I said. It really wasn't computing.

We called her nephew Ketchup Boy because once I went with her to have lunch with her brother and sister-in-law and the kid. He was, maybe, three and he was playing with the Ketchup bottle, or it may have been multiple bottles, giving us a scare that we were all going to walk out of Hut's Hamburgers looking like serial killers.

Time turns rowdy toddlers into men. Or at least college boys. Frightening.

On the subject of killers (weak segue, I know): I finally saw the movie "A History of Violence." It's an interesting movie, but it's the usual deal where the hero escapes every rain of bullets with minor injuries so a brief hospital stay can make him good as new and ready to take on multiple assailants. For a contrast to that go see the Coen brothers' "No Country for Old Men."

No More Stuff!

On Thursday we were down on South Congress taking some info to the CPA. We also grabbed some lunch and wine at Enoteca as dilettantes are wont to do. Afterward I was using the shop windows as canvases for dark self portraits and insisted that we take a swing through Uncommon Objects. (This is actually the window at Off The Wall, I think.) Himself agreed but pointed out our extreme need to acquire no more stuff. Yes, yes. I like to see if I can get any digital photos of interesting stuff, however. And see things for sale that are very similar to things that in all likelihood will get given away from the PB Manse. Puts things in perspective. They want twelve bucks for that? Means they paid someone six. Chump change. Give it to the thrift store or someone who wants it without regret.

This morning FFP said "I suppose we will have to winnow down the coffee cups at some point." Or something very like that sentence. (I'm no good at remembering verbatim conversation which makes me a poor spy, novelist or witness.) Actually we'd already made a pass through the coffee cups. I expressed my desire to keep just the "Too Much Coffee Man" cups, my favorites. Ah, the big and little decisions. But since coffee is central to my life having favorites is important.

[Ed. Note: Those TMCM cups you found to link to are different than the ones you have! Do you need those, too? Are yours rare and valuable? LB: Stop it! We have six or seven of them and it's enough. No. More. Stuff. Or at least no more until we've tossed everything and started over again.]

Fashion Emergency

Yesterday's Wall Street Journal had a front page story about high-end stores and brands infiltrating (for want of a better word) smaller markets. Date line? Austin, Texas. This has certainly happened in the Domain center. (See fancy shop window here.) Anyway, in this article they quoted some women I know about how they had all these new designer gowns for the upcoming black tie season. Um. OK. They say the season will start tomorrow night at a gala for Ballet Austin. Um. Yeah. I was just planning on flipping through my various excuses for finery, none from designers of note. And going to that event.

I really envy men. A couple of tuxes, some suspenders, ties, cummerbunds, tasteful black pumps, maybe a white dinner jacket. The tuxedo look for women pops up now and then. I embraced the simplicity. I got a real tux tailored for me. Paired it with tuxedo shirts or a silver shiny turtle neck. I even have a white dinner jacket. I think I got it at a secondhand store for twenty bucks. This party is so early in the season, that FFP plans to wear his dinner jacket.

I have worn gowns. But designer gowns. Nope. I got married in a dress I bought for $35.

So tomorrow night, among the designer gowns, I'm be the one in some dowdy black velvet pants and some top I find in the back of the closet. It said in this column that the reporters ask women now what they are wearing. In other words, who designed it. Something tells me, though, that they won't be asking me!

By the way, the photo was taken Monday of the window of the St. Vincent de Paul thrift store on South Congress. I love the way the mannequin has tossed aside those uncomfortable-looking red high heels and adopted a bored sprawl more suited to a pair of old jeans. You can see yours truly (in a polo and jeans) snapping the picture. Oh, and speaking of those heels. Did I mention that I have a pair of flat tuxedo pumps and, whatever outfit I have, that's what I'll be wearing to festively inaugurate Ballet Austin's new home tomorrow night?

Where's My Hat? Where's My Head?

This is a shot of some junk on offer a couple of years ago at, I believe, Uncommon Objects on South Congress.

Here are some thoughts I've been having lately: (1) Do I need all these hats? (2) How many copies of James Joyce's Ulysses do I need? (3) How many flashlights do we need in the condo?

We have about four dozen caps, I'll bet. And hats, too. Some are mine. I never wear hats any more. A cap on the tennis court until it gets too grubby and I switch to a newer one. Or buy one at the pro shop when I've forgotten one.

I'm reading a copy of Ulysses I bought in Dublin. But I think there are two more copies of it in the house.

The other night the power went out. I know we have a bunch of flashlights around here but it took me a few minutes to find the first one, then to find two more for FFP and the house guest. (Finding the second and third was made easier by the first! Isn't it frustrating how you try to flip on lights when the power is out?) We'll have a lot fewer rooms and spots to put things in the condo. That'll be a good thing, I think. Bet I'll still forget where I put the flashlights. Of course, with the house you always have the ace in the hole of stumbling out to the car and getting one. I've stocked the cars with the wind-up type which dispels the disappointment of finding one with dead batteries. In the condo, the car will be in the garage a couple of floors down.

Yeah. I'm sure it would be better to ponder world peace, the war in Iraq or why the Texas Longhorns could barely win over powerhouse Arkansas State. Still. Hats, books and flashlights. Much more tractable.

Dark Mood

My life is going well as the summer winds down. We have a few social things going on but some free nights, too. We've finished with one volunteer duty. The parents are rocking along, the old frail dog is somewhat stable.

So why the dark mood? I'm just in one of those troughs where the downsizing effort seems daunting. And the financial markets are worrying. It's funny how we can be see-sawed by sub-prime loans when we are debt-free. (I just this moment saw a commercial for Countrywide Home Loans offering home loans, easy as pie. Aren't they bankrupt?)

So, dark thoughts are being banished. After I've sold those off to Wall Street types and exercised myself into a fog of good internally-produced drugs, I'm going to make some headway on getting rid of stuff and organizing stuff. (Did I mention that the Realtors was over here shaking their heads over the mess yesterday?)

Picture is compliments of Blackmail on South Congress. Black moods for sale. The little neon inside, visible if you click on the pic to blow it up, says 'Think Noir.'

Acquisition

Sunday we were visiting the South Congress area. Some businesses have moved or folded and the ones occupying space keep tending to the upper end of the scale. Uncommon Objects, its doorway reflecting us and the church across the street in this picture, has remained. Selling the odd and the end and always decorating their windows in an amazing way, they soldier on.

I've enjoyed buying things at Uncommon Objects. I've bought weird bookends, objects for the cocktail shaker (etc.) collection and some fake pastries. I once considered starting a fake food collection. Really. My problem for the years from the end of the eighties until 2002 was that I always had a rather large office at work tempting me to decorate with weird collections and stock it with books and such. And at home I had all this storage, many bookshelves. Every remodel (1994, 1996, 2004) brought an upheaval of moving stuff around that resulted in some divesting but eventually bringing more storage and more temptation. I had money and stuff was fun to shop for and look at. I dabbled in ebay. I went to discount stores. And I wandered into junk and antique shops and came out with stuff. People gave me presents. They were often inspired by my weird collections to give me really weird (but cool) stuff.

Given all the acquisition it is surprising that I'm not drowning in stuff even more than I am.

Much has been given away. Much has been thrown away. But I think I still have those fake pastries.

See...I Even Took a New Shop Window Picture

Yes...a brand new picture from my favorite shop window...that of Uncommon Objects on South Congress, Austin, Texas, U.S.A.

And there I am, in my dog shirt, looking fat.

My computer is a mess. My desk is a mess. My house is a mess.

I even thought of spending one hour working on the 'downsizing' and then one hour writing about it. To spur me on, you know. But instead I cleaned the coffee machine and took my blood pressure and I'm reading a tennis magazine.

I'm Still Here

I had a little setback over the weekend. It was supposed to be a weekend of catching up on things and enjoying the nice weather. You can read about the upset Saturday brought over on my Journal of Unintended Consequences.

We had a nice weekend nevertheless. Nothing was planned for Saturday. That turned out to be a good thing. Thursday's adventures on South Congress and downtown were fun. (I took the picture after dropping off my tax stuff to the CPA on Thursday in SoCo.) And we had a nice Friday. My dad and I made it to water aerobics (good for Dad) and I managed a pretty good workout after that. I had lunch with Dad and a friend and my friend and I went computer equipment shopping afterwards without buying anything. Always good. Friday night was a really pleasant event with fun people to talk to and good apps and good wine to taste.

And yesterday we were treated to hearing a world class string quartet play in someone's living room followed by a reception where we met some new and interesting people and had some nice apps. That was so old school elegant. It almost made me feel bad coming home to watch mindless television.

Today for the second week in a row I'm going to turn over a new leaf and be more productive. Only problem is that I've already wasted most of the morning and I haven't even gotten a workout.

Hot Stuff

The Texas Book Festival is this weekend. FFP volunteered with Badgerdog Publications yesterday but all I did was go with him to an evening event on South Congress (at a little room above the Continental Club) where Mark Binelli did a reading from Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die! and then they had a panel discussion with Mark Z. Danielewski, Heidi Julavits and Cristina Henriquez. I hadn't heard any of these authors but they'd all written about teens so they hung them on a Lolita theme but really the discussion was all over the place. Mark has written some very difficult books which apparently have a cultish following (I never noticed that difficult contains 'cult' before but there you go). It was all a lot of fun. The only author I'd heard of was one who didn't show up (Marisha Pessl who wrote Special Topics in Calamity Physics). I really enjoyed the discussion even though it was really crowded and I had to sit on the floor. I took the photo of the window at Blackmail on the way back to our car. The reading and the discussion made me want to read all these people's books, but of course I'm still behind on my newspapers and busy sorting the rather large collection of books we already have.