Going Through the Motions

There is something about this holiday gap between Christmas and the New Year that always makes me feel lost. On Christmas Day, I drank two Bloody Marys. Started drinking early, too. I actually don't think I had another drink, but one can't be sure this many days later.

Anyway, I feel lost. Yesterday, I went through my regular routine. I was up a little late (7:30). I had coffee and did the puzzles in The New York Times. (It was Saturday and I conquered them all so that took a while.) I turned the TV on because it's cold outside and I use it to warm up the room. Haven't had the heat on all winter! Put it on BBC News. I read the rest of the Arts section that I found interesting and then almost finished looking at yesterday's papers, save the front page of the NY Times. I got interested in a couple of stories in it and have yet to finish.

We walked across the footbridge to Trader Joe's because I wanted salad for lunch. (I'd already had a taco that FFP got from the Farmer's Market Taco Deli stand.) I didn't have any 'green stuff.' We get a mixture of kale, spinach, and chard called Power to the Greens. Came home with a Fuji apple, a birthday card for my nephew-in-law, some cheese sticks that I'm going to add to the appetizer plate for tonight, a fake chicken in orange sauce frozen thing FFP wanted to try, chicken tenders (actual chicken) for a dish he's going to make tomorrow night, a small baguette, a microwavable Indian Tikka veggie thing I wanted to try, some olive tapenade (for the apps for last night) and five Lemon Luna bars (why five I don't know, FFP added to cart). And, of course, the greens. The total was only $24.94. The bill always seems cheap at Trader Joe's!

I made a salad. The greens, some chopped apple, some broccoli, some raisins, some carrots, shredded cheese, green onions, and Greek Feta dressing. I read a little bit of today's The Wall Street Journal while eating. I put away the food I'd drug out.

Then I sat at my computer. Pondering cash flow to pay my bills, my 'to do' lists and where we stood after the wild week on Wall Street.

I decided I deserved to sit in my chair and read, perhaps to doze.

Around 4p.m. I put together some appetizers for the event last night. I ended up with a lot of choices for what to include and how to combine it. Some endive topped with olive tapenade or Boursin cheese, some celery with pimento cheese, little toasts with paté and a sliver of gherkin, and zucchini topped with Boursin. Something like that. Challenge was figuring out how to get them in something we could walk across the lake on foot with. I managed it and we made it there. We had dinner with food brought by the other couples (much tastier and better thought out), drank wine, watched a show of singers giving tribute to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong backed by a number of musicians from the local scene plus a bunch of the Austin Symphony.

Today was cold and rainy. I got out for my lunch with some girlfriends. We chattered about growing old and our various challenges. I ate fried avocado eggs benedict. Which somehow sounded better than it was. I didn't do anything constructive all day. FFP wanted to go out to the restaurant down the street (Fixe Southern House) for dinner. I had a couple of Manhattans with some gumbo and fried chicken and kale salad.

Sloth isn't becoming, but I do it so well. I would make resolutions to do better in 2019, but why? I wouldn't keep them. If I need resolutions, I only need to look back.

I Resolve

I gave up on New Year's Resolutions a few years ago. Then I made holiday resolutions. Then I gave up on those. When I did such things I even sometimes tracked my progress against them for a while after. (This is far easier to do for holiday resolutions than for those you track for a whole year.)

Why that picture? Because a lot of people (and possibly me in the past) often resolve to drink less. I'm not doing that. I may well drink less now than I did in the past. Maybe not. The Manhattan above (with a double cherry and smoked bacon garnish) is my special drink at Fixe, a restaurant close by. We will eat there on Christmas Eve. I will have one, I'm betting. I often go whole days without drinking. I didn't have a drink on Sunday. Last night I had a glass of white wine and then a couple of glasses of Burgundy. Some friends took us out. They drove us, too. I never drink and drive. I have in my life, but I avoid it assiduously now. It helps that I can barely see at night and therefore have trouble driving at night. Often we go out, I drink, the husband drives.

One can resolve to exercise more. Ho. Hum. I can't tell you how many times I did that. How many exercise, weight, food charts I made in an attempt to accomplish it. I could probably dredge up these old things, but I think they'd bore me. I think I resolve...to not bore myself. And so, I'll sign off before I bore everyone else, too.

To Nog or Not

Photograph on left by Maja Nipper (all rights reserved). Painting on right by Shanny Lott (all rights reserved). So don't use the composite of my shelf either. I don't ask for forbearance often.

As the days of Holidailies have rolled along I've become more and more dependent on Holidailies for an inspiring prompt. Today they offer:

Eggnog - yes or no? Do you have a favorite recipe? Alternatively, what is your favorite holiday drink?

Here's my take on eggnog:

1. If you make some, I'll have a taste. (FFP can't have the milk and cream.)
2. But please use Bourbon.
3. I love that scene in 'Giant' where Bob asks Bick if he makes 'it'  himself. Turns out Bob is talking about the liquor not the eggnog recipe.

My favorite any time drink is a Manhattan. Preferably with Rye Whiskey but a Bourbon will do. At Christmas you should be drinking dark liquor for cold weather (in the Northern Hemisphere anyway). Not that I'm preaching about what you should drink. On Facebook I'm famous among my buddies for taking pictures of my drinks especially the Manhattans. I am somewhat of a connoisseur of them although I can't really consume enough alcohol to become an 'expert'. The painting above on my shelf was done by my friend Shanny Lott in honor of my obsession. Next to it is a picture of my dad, taken the last week of his life, sipping a little whiskey.

My mom used to like to buy the prepackaged eggnog at Christmas and Dad would spike it up. Haven't touched it lately. 

Now every Christmas I manage to have some Bloody Marys, too. It's a tradition at the noon time day before Christmas Eve party at our downtown club. And FFP likes to have one occasionally at home especially this time of year. The vitamin C in the tomato juice helps with all the other drinking!

As for 'Giant' I just found the DVDs and queued up the Christmas scene on side B. Watching that long movie is sort of a Christmas tradition around here, too. And so I say...Cheers!

Merry Christmas

FFP poses with a stuffed Santa at a party at the Headliners Club.

The Visible Woman...celebrates.

There are no more presents to open. I got my present earlier and I love it. FFP liked his new muffler and umbrella (or so he said). It's not the one in this picture because I didn't let him open until Christmas Eve and this was the day before. 

We got up around 7:30. At that moment when a hot coffee from the Capresso machine sounded better than staying in bed. I sorted the ads to throw away out of the paper. Just glanced at a couple. I have no intention of shopping after Christmas, but I like to see what they are pushing.

Yesterday we walked down to SoCo and ate at a favorite spot, Snack Bar. I had a salad of avocado, pineapple and quinoa and FFP had the same and we shared an order of crispy Brussels sprouts although I ate most of them. There were lots of people down there, presumably getting last minute gifts. We only went in to Off the Wall, Tesoros Trading Company and South Congress Books. At South Congress Books we bought a book of jazz essays by Phillip Larkin called All What Jazz: A Record Diary  Who knew he wrote about jazz? And a biography of Peggy Lee. I guess you could say we bought ourselves some presents. We refused the gift bags offered however. FFP came home and immediately started reading the Peggy Lee book. I wanted to take up the Phillip Larkin book because I'd started one essay in the store and it sounded great. But I'm going to finish Kansas City Lightning by Stanley Crouch first. It's my bedside book. (I read papers in my chair in front of the TV and while eating.) I finish books, but slowly, since that's usually my only book reading time.

We came home and finally decided to stay in for the evening. We watched Le Notti Bianche on a disk rented from Netflix. We listened to an extra on the disk which was a reading of the Dostoevsky story it was based on. (I love this movie. The way it looks. The way they film flashbacks. The atmosphere of the streets.) I read papers all the while, missing this and that in the film and reading I'm sure. We ate a dinner of what was in the refrigerator. And we had drinks. I had two lovely Manhattans on the rocks, mixed by FFP. On Monday at our club party they had Bloody Marys and I had two and they were delicious. I think FFP even had one. (We did walk to the party!) FFP started thinking about mixing one and had to run around the neighborhood and find some mix. He tried the store in the building but it was closed early for the holiday and so he went about four blocks to a liquor store he called to see if they had it.

So we celebrated with cocktails and an old movie and reading. Happy Christmas Eve to us. It was nice, actually.

Early in the evening I called my Aunt Cappy on the phone. She lives near Dallas and my cousin and his wife and one of their daughters and her family live not too far away. However, I think everyone was in Taos for Christmas. My cousin in Houston has a wife and mother-in-law not doing that well. We don't like to drive IH35 this time of year. So there she was, alone. (Her husband died in January. She couldn't attend his memorial in February because she was in the hospital with pneumonia. I helped her return his ashes to his native state of Maine in the summer and she did quite well on the trip.) She said she'd saved our gift for Christmas morning. It wasn't much: some ballpoint pens in a retro style and a package of note cards with a typewriter as decoration. (She still has a typewriter and uses it occasionally!) She said, yes, she was alone. Then: "I spent lots of time alone in the barracks before I was married." (She was a career Navy woman. She married a Marine within a few years of both of their retirements.)

I thought of a Christmas I spent alone, before I was married. My parents went to Colorado where they had grandchildren. My aunts who lived nearby (the older sisters of my Aunt Cappy who never married) had gone to West Texas where there were two other sisters, married with children. I didn't get an invitation from anyone I worked with. It was a sort of wonderful experience, actually. I had presents from my parents and sister and probably some from my aunts and I saved them for Christmas morning. I opened them and then later called Colorado to thank them for the presents (and hear the chaos of the kids and their presents in the background). I don't remember any of my gifsts except one. It was a pencil sharpener. A crank-style one, heavy duty. Instead of having to be screwed to a shelf like in our schools at that time it had a lever that activated a powerful suction cup to stabilize it. That was back when I dreamed of writing a book on yellow pads with Number 2 pencils. Back before computers for the home. (I programmed computers at the time, having my code typed onto punch cards for the compiler by a room full of ladies. Yes they were all ladies.) I never wrote a book on yellow pads with pencils. I never wrote a book, period. I kept the pencil sharpener for a long time, however.

That Christmas I made myself some coffee, maybe a little breakfast of bacon and eggs. I got the Dallas Morning News and I turned on my stereo and listened to the Beatles or something while reading every single page and section of the paper. If I'm not mistaken, I may not have owned a TV at that time.

Like my Aunt Cappy, I can deal with being alone. Even on the holiday when it seems most people gather in large groups. But I almost never am alone and I almost never was at Christmas before I married either.

Today we are relaxing with coffee and papers. We may have a walk this morning. Probably have some chicken and veggie tacos for lunch. Then we join a family gathering for dinner and drinking. 

Anger, Grudges, Euphoria and Memory

I am sitting here with a cup of coffee, typing on my blue tooth keyboard on my iMac (a physically pretty computer that hasn't lived up to its beauty). I'm leaning back in my chair. I usually use the wired USB keyboard because I'm usually doing numbers and it has a number pad. The blue tooth one doesn't have one. This little keyboard is light and magical. There is that great cup of coffee nearby. Maybe I'm 'just typing' but it is always a euphoric moment for me, using a computer that is working at the moment to write something to store forever (or while blogger archives it) and sipping good black coffee. My life is full of these moments. Moments of reading or visiting with friends. Completion of a task. Just walking my friend's dog this morning on a dreary, damp day felt good. Toasting with friends with some great live music playing gives me a rush of well-being.

Lately I've had lingering anger and attendant grudges to deal with. The good news is that the euphoria of moments of reading, writing, visiting with friends or listening to music stick with me. A sip of coffee takes me there and makes me happy.

But my memory for other things grows vague. Rude comments and slights, behavior that I found offensive, someone taking advantage of me? I hold onto it but then it slips away, a victim of the vagaries of memory. Perhaps because these things are inspired by the memory alone and not, like my moments of euphoria, fueled by the smell of coffee or the clink of ice cubes in a Manhattan or a sight of a red wine twinkling in candlelight.

I'm not sure how it came to be that good memories were associated with these readily available triggers, but I'm glad it's so and that my grudges and anger are more easily put aside, having to maintain themselves out of brain stuff alone.

[Today's photo is an untitled shop window reflection portrait of FFP taken with an iPhone at Let's Dish on South Lamar.]

My SXSW

When last we spoke, dear reader, one day of SXSW was gone and we had seen exactly one movie after getting our badges and some advanced tickets. Of course, we had gone to the Texas Film Hall of Fame party and the pre-party before that. (See Connie Britton above left with Dana Wheeler-Nicholson helping with the live auction at the gala. They are stars in "Friday Night Lights," a TV show we love.)

Well, the weekend went well. We managed four films and a panel on Saturday and Sunday. Some peoples' schedules are much more brutal but with my persistent allergy/cold (I thought I was getting over it and then it morphed and bit again) and FFP needing to do some writing we couldn't do the death march. We met up with some Cinematic people including our friend Jette who were rushing about madly and our friend Christopher Holland of B-Side Entertainment said he had to wait until a lot of people left before he could see some films. A college sophomore from Baylor declared in the line Sunday night that it would be her sixth film. She should have the stamina for the nursing career she is going to pursue.

Saturday we got a few things handled and then went to the Convention Center theater and queued up for "45365." A man who turned out to be the three brother filmmakers' father handed us a matchbook with the times for the showings and the title stamped on it. The title (pronouneced four-five-three-six-five) is the zip code for Syndey, Ohio where the filmmakers grew up. The kids wanted to write about their home town which they had left behind for film work and college and finally decided to make a doc and make the town speak for itself through film of the place and some inhabitants. At first I thought maybe they needed to edit some stuff but gradually I realized the film was pitch perfect. They stayed out of the way and let the town and some residents speak. By the end we had figured out relationships, we wondered about backgrounds and what would happen next for people. We knew what events people looked forward to and how the seasons unfolded there. We found ourselves in a line for another movie later talking to other people who'd seen it about the various characters in it like they were from our own hometown or, at least, characters in a well-formed narrative.

We walked back to the condo for a quick snack and refresh and headed out to the movie "Objectified." It was made by Gary Hustwit, who made the movie "Helvetica" we so enjoyed last year. The movie is a documentary about the 'stuff' around us and how it is designed and the life cycle of all the things in our world. Very enjoyable. We headed to Taste after that to have a meal. Just didn't have another movie in us. The meal and wine were pleasant.

Sunday we sat around in our sweats for a while, doing some writing and taking in the Sunday paper and such. FFP made us a big breakfast of migas and toast which sustained us until we ate a meal in front of a movie at Alamo South Lamar.

We headed to the Convention Center and went to Christopher Holland's book book signing for "Film Festival Secrets." We wanted to see a panel on design with the director of "Objectified" and some designers and a New York Times magazine writer, Rob Walker, who writes a column about, well, stuff. There was a bit of time to wait so we got a cup of coffee and went into the day stage cafe where the Interactive conference interview of Nate Silver by Stephen Baker was being broadcast. Heh, we wouldn't have been admitted to an Interactive panel with a film badge. It was pretty interesting. Silver is the numbers guy behind FiveThirtyEight.com and Stephen Baker wrote "The Numerati." After this we went to the panel on design. It was packed. Like the movie "Objectified" it was a joint Interactive/Film event. There were lots of people with funny dye jobs and vintage clothes. Must be more of that in the online world than in film.

We decided when the panel ended to try the new (for this year's fest) shuttle and waited a few minutes to catch a bus at 4th and Red River. We were tremendously early for "Bomber" but it was worth the wait. It was a witty family drama about a mom, dad and son who go off on a quest to let the dad resolve the wounds of a mistake made when he was a teenaged kid in WWII. Around this hook we see a delightful bit of Europe and watch a family try to unravel the damages life brings and get down to basic caring.

When the movie (and our meal) was over we were wondering "could we actually see another?" We decided to try. We waited for the shuttle bus which came after a while and delivered us to 7th Street near Congress. We decided not to try going back to the house and had a cup of coffee and a snack at the Hidelout. Lines were long for the movie, "Women in Trouble," at the Paramount. There were many VIPs and celebrities but we got in, no problem, and got our favorite seats (left section orchestra, row T, two on the aisle). We were excited that Connie Britton was in the movie and another "Friday Night Lights" actress, Andriane Palacki. The movie was raunchy, irreverant, unlikely and laugh-out-loud funny. It was "Pulp Fiction" all is connected style without the violence. Well, there was a tiny bit of violence, nothing to speak of.

We were more than done when the movie was over, but people were queued outside for another. We got home just after midnight.

Yesterday (Monday) we were all about trying to have a reasonable pace. I was trying to get over whatever weird illness plagues me and FFP was up against some deadlines. We finally settled on seeing a shorts program at 1:30 at Alamo South and walking up there for our alleged exercise. Shorts Reel 1 seemed disorganized and theme-less. I know themes are hard to achieve in these things but this one had everything from a wordless narrative short of amazing physical comedy ("Sunday Mornings") to a documentary about cleaning up the 'chicken bones and newspaper' type hoarder's house ("Isis Avenue"). Those two were pretty worthy as was an over the top improv about therapy called "Countertransference." But all in all the reel left me hungry for coherence. But I was otherwise quiet sated with a three cheese grilled sandwich and fries and a Coke.

We walked home. (The walk home from Alamo is easier because it is mostly downhill.) We got a few things done and headed out for "The Two Bobs." It was a big deal movie for the fest, shot around town and with Tim McCanlies, writer and director. We'd gotten an advance ticket which allows first dibs in the badge line. We were surprised to see a good sixty or eighty people with 'cast and crew' tickets. All was utter chaos at the Paramount but we got in and got our usual seats. The movie was slapstick and predictable but great fun nonetheless with fabulous set decoration and many local folks involved. The game animation was great fun, a bloody sendup of the genre. I have to say I liked it. I was looking for friend Jeff Lofton who was an extra but missed his moments on the screen. (I think I was distracted by Turk Pipkin in drag in that scene.) We were going to meet the Loftons for drinks and dinner, but after all was chaos. We didn't have a mobile number so FFP went back to the place to find it. I waited around trying to spot them. There were such crowds for the next movie plus Leslie posing in front of the Paramount that I finally decided we'd missed them and started home myself. Then FFP called and he'd gotten them on the phone and they were in front of the Paramount. We converged at Taste, heard the end of Trevor LaBonte and Liz Morphis doing their set and ate dinner and drank, all six of us. Taste was deserted. If you SXSWers are looking for a place to dine, venture all the way to Cesar Chavez, it's not far, and grab some fab food and wine. They even have Yelp specials for SXSW.

And then bed. I developed a cough at the beginning of the meal which I contained with cough drops and decon and water (and OK some wine). It's heck being sick during so much activity. Today is St. Pat's day. Last night was chaos downtown already and music isn't starting until the end of the week. We are going to try to see two movies today. And perhaps get some errands done. If I feel like it, maybe house cleaning. (I don't have to be very sick to eschew that.)

Why the Change?

You know how you consciously try to change things (lose weight! exercise more! get up earlier and accomplish something in the morning!)? But how you don't change things but stick in the same ruts?

And then one morning you are suddenly up earlier than usual. Oh, it's only thirty or forty-five minutes earlier. It's a little darker, it feels like you have more time. Before you usually get up, you've done your daily blogging to the Austin Daily Photo site (about a tree-climbing dog, ha) and you've checked e-mail and facebook and not much is happening. People are asleep. FFP is still asleep. You make a cup of coffee, get the three newspapers inside (but only look at front pages). The place is quiet (except for the door creaking, must get some WD-40 on it; and except for the coffee machine grinding and groaning). I have the quiet aluminum Apple keyboard.

You are as surprised to be up as if you'd found a bunch of doll heads in your easy chair. (Well, maybe not that surprised. Picture taken Monday at Blackmail on SoCo.)

Yeah, that is how my morning unfolded. It's not even seven and I am on with my day. Maybe I'll get some exercise in before nine. I'll have lots of time to get a shower and go see about things at my dad's before taking him to a memorial service for a friend.

I like being up earlier. It's true I've gone to bed slightly earlier the last few days. Not much though. To what can I attribute this early start? I have a nagging fear that because I didn't drink last night I was more lively this morning. Not even a glass of wine or a beer. I spent the whole day in the condo, cleaning, doing computer chores, goofing off a bit. I didn't eat too much and developed a headache before taking an Advil and venturing the ten feet down the hall to the gym. I felt better after that but I didn't want to risk it. When FFP wanted some white wine with the grilled sandwiches he was making, I said open it but I was having any. He just skipped it, too. (He's still asleep so maybe drinking isn't at the core of it.) Hey, but I also didn't drink any coffee late. It just didn't sound good. I wanted a soda, maybe a Root Beer or Ginger Beer. But I would have had to go down to the store (down the elevator, walk a hundred feet) because we didn't have any on hand. We did have some snacks I dipped into. And I ate a chocolate bar someone had given us in a gift basket. I don't usually eat chocolate.

This weekend is the start of the dreaded Daylight Savings Time. You wouldn't think it would make a difference for a retired person but tennis games follow the government's whimsical clock because things people do after change times as well (meetings, Bridge games, lunches, etc.). Everyone adjusts, like it or not. But this morning I'm just up earlier than usual. For no reason.

So, on with my day. And I hope that's the only surprise in it.

Consumer Price Index

I read a post on Holidailies, guided there because it was a Best of Holidailies selection. A detailed tale of managing a severe cash shortage. I need these things to remind me that we are lucky to usually have the cash to pay the bills and to send to relatives at this time so their holiday can be less stressed than this person. In fact, my niece who was designated to be Santa for stockings and kids' gifts with my money said in an e-mail: "We have presents for ALL! HO HO HO. Ok we have little presents for the big people and big presents for the little people. Ain't that just the way of the world?" They don't have a lot of money but they do have food, shelter and some gifts for the holidays. I worry that one of my nieces' husbands will lose their job. Or that my other niece, who has been waiting tables on the weekend while her husband looks after the kids to make ends meet, won't be able to make enough because of the downturn.

In this house we are thankful that we are in a position to not worry how to pay for gas in the car. We can go out and eat, have drinks, give money to our charities. Heck, in this condo we haven't even had to turn on the heat so far this winter let alone worry about how to pay our electric bill to pay for heating.

But. Sometimes the price of things just stops me in my tracks.

We went to a UT Women's Basketball game yesterday. (The women won, beating Tennesee who was ranked just below them in the polls.) Years ago (really a long, long time ago) we gave a small endowed scholarship to UT for a woman athlete studying journalism or communication. Really, we gave this so long ago that I think it was our first major donation to anything. Anyway, they send us tickets to Women's Basketball and we attend and, if we ask, they give us admission to the booster 'club' before the games. Yesterday we went in there. I thought I'd have a beer (which you cannot buy in the stands). After the bartender pulled a Shiner Bock, I was readying a dollar for a tip when she said the price. Seven dollars. Seven dollars? This beer is made in Central Texas. No one, anywhere, not even at the Four Seasons had ever charged me seven dollars. I don't think anyway. (I'll have to check the Four Seasons although I usually drink wine there. Haven't been there in a while.) Anyway, plastic cup, belly up to the bar service. Seven dollars. I had the money. It just shocked me. I didn't have an extra dollar, though, and the quarters in my pocket were to ride the 'Dillo bus back to downtown. So if that bartender was counting on me tipping, well I was too flabbergasted to do it.

I am glad I have money for a beer here and there, out in some public place where they can gouge you. I paid $4.50, plus left the half dollar for the bartender, for a Fat Tire, poured from a bottle into a plastic cup, at the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar Saturday. Expensive but not gouging so much. There was admission to the place, but there was live music.

Anyway, I'm just saying. Just because I have the money doesn't mean I won't balk at a certain price level. I'll never buy a drink at a game again. And, by the way, that 'Dillo bus used to be free. (Unless you consider that the Capitol Metro gets a cut of our sales taxes.) The transportation guys were trying to promote less driving of cars in downtown. Now it costs fifty cents. But, sadly, yesterday the two buses we rode were empty except for us. We missed one bus, which we saw pass us, empty, as we walked to the stop. So the transit folks are paying for empty buses going around and around downtown and UT. With my tax money. It's sad. I wonder how many people would ride if it were free. It does matter what you charge. Especially now when people literally don't have it in their pockets (or in a failing bank).

I noticed it said in the newspaper that miles driven in the U.S. dropped before the run up in gas prices and kept dropping when the price came down. Yeah, people. Some people don't have jobs to drive to, money to spend at the mall and they certainly aren't hankering for an out-of-town excursion with maybe a hotel stay if things are tight. So price makes a difference but some people won't be able to buy, no matter the price.

When I went to the convention center Saturday to the Christmas Bazaar, I noticed there was a sale of National Geographic products in another area of the center. Giant piles of discounted books, maps, toys, some backpacks and the like. Maybe National Geo had a mail-order biz or mall stores and were closing out the stuff. It was interesting because people had their carts piled with stuff. Maybe they were getting a toy or book for everyone on their list for ten dollars or less, thinking what a bargain it was. There were guide books to New York City and the like. Maybe it's good reading even if you can't afford the trip. The lines to check out purchases were longer than the ones at Costco the other day. And there, as I mentioned the other day, the carts were full of food.

Times are hard out there for our neighbors. Businesses will fail, people will suffer. And I don't think it will be over soon. And more and more people will be looking at prices and wondering 'is it worth it?' I just wish the politicians would do the same. What price for each job saved and for how long? It all seems like fodder for my Journal of Unintended Consequences which I just can't seem to write for these days. Perhaps because there is just too much to say.

[Reflection is in the Spaghetti Warehouse glass, a venerable family place on West Fourth in an old train shed. We never go there and I imagine it is seeing less business these days. But who knows?]

Where to Begin?

Where to begin? Or end for that matter.

I appeared on Friday to agonize over home. I've had a lot of thoughts since early Friday. And a couple of nights of dreams.

The dreams, then. My dreams night before last took the form of writing collaborations. Amid the usual (for me) dream scape of lost luggage and weird logistics of going places I'm not sure I need to be, there I was with sheaves of yellow legal paper with lots of handwritten notes for a novel of some sort. I seemed to be collaborating on the work with someone else (who remained quite vague) and then with a different person. I was untroubled by this apparent lack of loyalty and, with this second assistant, agreed to make the two principal characters, apparently based on us, dead in the book. Not dead as in dead and gone and not influencing the action in the present, but dead as in ghosts who could only see each other.

Last night my dreams were more usual. We were walking a long way, but I'd lost my shoes. FFP was helping me along. My stocking feet felt good. We were on a moving sidewalk for a very long time and then a set of colorful triangular steps that seemed perilous and to not be where we were supposed to be walking. In my dreams I'm often walking or driving when the walkway or roadway becomes something else again.

Why am I talking about dreams? I don't know. My little piece of the world has seemed dreamlike for a few days. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I have settle into the condo enough to internalize some of the facts of living here. Like you can't hear it rain. Not that it has rained much since we have lived here. We've had a drought. But at the old house you'd wake up and hear the pitter-patter on the roof and windows and that was cool. I'm sure it could rain hard enough that we'd hear it in here, but it would have to be quite a storm. It's nice to wake up on Sunday and see that it's been raining, though, and not worry about the paper being wet. The newspaper guy delivers the papers to the concierge who runs them up to the hallway in front of our door. Nice.

We are also noting how our place is so small that it's hard to lose track of each other or our stuff. That's good. Of course, we can be 'home' and be in the mail room, storage area, gym, parking garage, lobby, etc. That's weird.

It feels more monumental to get the car out now. Friday night we went to a opening of a big wine and gourment shop in Hancock Center. Too far to walk. Since we were already in the car we battled the IH35 service road to go to an Italian place on E. 11th. When we lived in the 'burbs (close-in burbs, though) we'd jump in the car at the drop of a hat. We'd jump in the car (sometimes both in separate cards) and go to the club to use the gym. We'd sometimes drive to a restaurant that was an easy walk away. Certainly going downtown or driving to a restaurant far afield was no big deal. I'd walk out to the garage seven minutes before my tennis game at the club (or any other event there) and figure I wouldn't be too late. Now I need to add seven minutes to get to my car and get it out of the building. And, for meetings at the club at night, there is a lot of pesky traffic in the way. I think this is basically a good thing. We went to luncheons on Friday and Saturday that were downtown and all we had to do was walk over. No driving downtown and no finding parking or using a valet and waiting with everyone else after for the car. Last night we went to a dinner party at some friends' apartment in the Monarch. We just hoofed over on our feet with five bottles of wine.

I've been thinking more about the novel. You know, the one I've posted two paragraphs of here in the harsh light of blogland. (Here and here if you are following along.) I was going to get the guy to meet up with the person picking him up at the airport, have him learn who the woman sitting next to him was, etc. Move him along. This would require, however, deciding on the weather. Will it be hot when he steps out of the terminal? Will he remove his blazer against the heat of an August or will it be pleasantly cool and sunny. Of course, if it is May-September it's probably hot, but if it's October-April it could be anything. So I have to decide what time of year it is and then, if it isn't in the prolonged Austin summer, I have to decide whether, you know, it is a twenty degree day in January or a sixty degree one. Of course, maybe I could just take this guy outside without comment on the weather, his clothes, etc. But it doesn't seem right. Even if you don't write these things you should have established them in your head. And, to be honest, if it's August, he felt the heat in the jet way between the plane and the air-conditioned terminal.

The real actual weather in Austin today is dreary and around sixty. We have tickets to see Chekhov's "Three Sisters" in the afternoon. I can't concentrate long enough to read the synopsis on Wikipedia. I think I have a little hangover. Nothing too serious. I'm just a little dreary myself. Wine flowed last night and some guy whipped up a cocktail that I believe involved gin that I may have (OK, I did) had one of. I have lots of things I need to do like wrap a present for my father-in-law, print mailing labels for holiday cards, clean the condo. We were thinking of visiting a few galleries in the East Austin Studio Tour before going to the play.

But. Where to begin?

Cocooning

Today we did some cocooning, just hanging around our place. We did walk about three miles this morning, over to Caffe Medici on W. Lynn with our friend and our God Dog. The dog walked further, detouring up walks and chasing a few squirrels.

Since we have a gym across the hall, it counts as part of the cocoon, although it's a public area. I did forty-five minutes on the bike. I had to use my iPod to pipe Ella Fitzgerald and such into my ears to avoid listening to rap music on an audio source that couldn't be cut off. (I know I said I wouldn't use my iPod in this way. It was an emergency.)

I confess to some depression today. In part it's because my computer setup had a glitch and that always makes me feel bad because I feel so dependent on it which is stupid, I suppose. Fortunately one of my backup schemes saved me. All is well for the moment. Also, the ongoing meltdown of the world makes me depressed and my condo needs cleaning and I have other chores I don't feel like doing. So I worked as much of the NY Times Sunday Magazine crossword as I could (with a couple of Internet cheats and asking FFP some sports questions) and then logged onto this cool site that has the solution and discusses it. I ate the food FFP prepared (because left to my own devices I eat cheese from the frig although I also had a bagel and cream cheese at the coffee shop).

Instead of doing what I should be doing, I downloaded CDs to iTunes. I read some newspapers while displacing from the things I should have been doing, too. I read that Billy Graham was too old and sick to advise Barak Obama. In fact, Barak has yet to get to meet him although Biily would like to 'pray with him.' This is news, my friends, in the era of evangelical politics.

When I was all sweaty from my workout, I got a call from Lifeline Systems that my dad's system had gone off and they couldn't communicate with him. We were halfway out there when they called to say that he was OK and had simply "spilled a beer on his phone device." We continued out there and, sure enough, I think the beer may have disabled the phone. They'll replace it. I wasn't all that worried. Real emergencies don't follow predictable patterns, I find. It did make us get out of the house. We even thought of grabbing dinner out on the way home, but instead came home, relied on FFP's cooking again and watched "Sunset Boulevard" and some football. We drank some delicious wine, too. Cocooning can be a good thing if you don't take it too far.

I Should Be...

I should be working out, I should be cleaning, I should be doing some errands. But. I'm blogging. I have a lunch date with a friend and my father later.

This photo shows me reflected on a giant gadget (an iPhone?) in the Apple Store window. I'm thinking the little things around represent games and such you can download to your phone. I've thought of getting a new phone but not very hard. I'm not sure I want a phone that can do more than phone.

We saw k.d. lang last night. I'd never seen her in person. Things I love about k.d. lang:

1. She is impossibly, completely, irrepressibly herself and damn the consequences.
2. She can take a brilliant song by someone else (Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" last night) and make a chill run through your body that you suddenly realize is going all along the row, all through the audience and at the end they rise to their feet and it's not to beg an encore but it's just that one piece and an appreciation of it that has yanked the audience up.
3. In spite of the above, in spite of the fact that she could cover songs and perhaps be the most popular singer on earth (think Roy Orbison's "Crying" here, too) she does material that is all her own (written by her or for her) and bangs on it over the years and takes her faithful with her. (See number 1.)
   

I enjoyed it. Before that we went to the Austin Club and ate and drank too much. I like the Austin Club. The bartender. Summer, knows our names, our reciprocal number (we aren't really members at all but are in a reciprocity club from another club) and my drink. FFP saw her preparing my drink and realized she was using a different whiskey than I prefer. He said she stopped, thought, poured it out and got out the Woodford Reserve! It's great when people do their job well, isn't it? It's not like we go there all the time. (No, really. We drink all the time. Just not there.) Then she was laughing at herself for not remembering!

Yeah, I'm going to do some of those things I should be doing. Soon. But not until FFP and I finish listening to Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" sung by a bunch of different artists. And not until I finish reading a play by my new friend in New York that she sent us.

My Austin Film Festival, Part 2

[Picture is a reflection in a toy store shop window of a tie die Keep Austin Weird T-Shirt.]

Rule Number One of Film Festivals: You will not see half of what you put on your tentative schedule. Rule Number Two: You will meet interesting people.

We did see a panel today. It was about the Dramatic Story. There were some interesting panelists. This fellow Jeff Nathanson who did the "Catch Me If You Can" script said that every script needs to have a sort of 'original moment' that you build around. The twin brothers Alex and Andrew Smith ("The Slaughter Rule" is their main claim to fame and I haven't seen it) were very interesting. They both teach now. Alex provided a couple of good quotes.

Make the character a mess....Even Superman is a mess...he's two people at once, he's an orphan.

and

Something that happens is an event. A movie is a journey.

We also saw a Shorts Program. It was Shorts Program 6 but the programmers could have called it "Puberty and Young Love." It burst with the confusion of the attraction of one human animal to another, concluding with something that I think could safely be called "Geek Love with Apology to Fellini" but was actually called "Outcasts."

We saw a teen prom flick called "Bart Got a Room" in the early evening. This flick used its lead well and used William H. Macy effectively as the kid's father. Somehow they resembled one another. It wasn't really the kind of film you'd expect Macy to be in. The Florida setting was given a leading role, too. It was just fun.

We slipped out of film fest mode and went to a party for Austin Chronicle's Stephen Moser's birthday. It was amazing and we saw a lot of our friends although it was at Pangaea, a bar I don't get and would never go to if there wasn't an event there. We stopped over at Ruth's Chris after and sat in the bar and watched people stream in for the film festival party. But we never really joined that jostle, just greeting a few people who were.

Film. Food. Drink. And we walked to it all, too. Living downtown is great in that way. Also, there was lots of street theater today including a woman dressed in what appeared to be a wedding dress and tiara shouting across Lavaca at some guy then sitting down with another woman at a table at Austin Java. Mascara was streaked on her face. It had to be someone doing a movie, I decided, but I saw no cameras.

My Austin Film Festival, Part 1

The picture is from one of the shops in that South Lamar Center that includes the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema (South Lamar). Film presenters are, these days, very skittish about cameras and camera phones. Apparently you can shoot an entire feature film in shaky two-minute segments on your point 'n shoot digital and send it to China. Well at least post outtakes of Oliver Stone's "W." with Josh Brolin talking with his mouth full on YouTube. So this picture will have to do for visual entertainment while I talk about my impressions of the Film Festival.

Bare in mind: (1) I don't make films, I just watch them. And I'm not even a professional critic like my friend Jette. (2) I end up spending more quality time talking to friends and FFP or people we meet than really 'reviewing' the festival. Nevertheless, I have opinions. Who doesn't?

I love going to panel discussions and hearing real writers tell how hard it was to get inspiration from head to page to movie. As my faithful readers know I practice not writing. And these panels convince me that the pesky screen play form is not for me. I'll keep my unwritten stuff in novel, poem and short story form. Poem? Not really. Doggerell maybe. But I digress. The festival.

We managed to shake off the vodka martinis and Dos Equis we drank with the fabulous food at the Film and Food Young Filmmakers benefit and go to two panels. We love panel discussions as I said and these had speakers I really enjoyed. One was entitled "Shot of Inspiration" and the other "Common Mistakes Writers Make." Really it doesn't matter what the title is because in the former you get the 'where ideas come from' out of the way and then talk about war stories and movie people antecdotes. In the latter, you get 'two brads or three and no cute covers' out of the way and then do the same. Not really, but I love hearing people talk about what they do, what's worked, etc.

In last year's 'Shot of Inspiration' Dan Petrie passed out shots of booze. That was a surprise, but this year the speakers were Polly Platt and Herschel Weingrod. Polly has been involved with several movies that are, to me, iconic. As a writer, "Pretty Baby" and as a productions designer "Last Picture Show." She was involved with Peter Bogdanovich, but I've heard Polly before and she is an astute woman with a great eye for talent and a wide-ranging intellect. She also has an eye for the ridiculous and she looks at the world as a story with built-in metaphor. She forgets names of the great and not-so-great and asks the audience for help in filling these blanks.

Herschel was interesting talking about how "Trading Places" (one of my all time favorites) and how he managed to make a 'subversive' comedy. He portrayed the long winding road to 'success' with humility and humor.

The "Common Mistakes Writers Make" went through the usual physical appearance bits, the too long, too short, etc. but the speakers were obviously hard-working writers. Stuart Kelban teaches at UT and so is uniquely positioned to talk about mistakes as he shepherds many student scripts. But he writes his own, too. Yaphet Smith is a young local guy we talked to while standing around last year. I don't know that any script he's written has been produced. But he is so interesting and self-possessed. He hammered away at his idea that unless everything in the movie promotes its theme, you aren't doing your job.

Best quote from these two panels came from Herschel Weingrod, I think. "The script is an invitation to make the movie. It's not the movie." See, that's why I don't write screenplays. They are just jumping off places. I'd prefer to not write finished works. [Ed. Then why do you constantly rewrite blog entries. LB. Typos? Yeah, well, anyway.]

We stocked up on food and drink at Ruth's Chris where a gaggle of Yellow Dog Democrats from the Texas Observer and friends were also waiting to see Oliver Stone's "W." It turns out from a little WEB surfing that this is unoriginal criticism but WTF was this about? One minute I thought we were in a Shakespearean tragedy about a son trying to please a father and the next I thought I was in the best SNL skit ever. And, I'm sorry, but does the real W. eat every meal with his mouth open and his fingers popping in that mouth? Rent "JFK" and "Born on the Fourth of July" for good Oliver Stone. See this one because, why not see Richard Dreyfus protray Dick Cheney and Toby Jones protray Karl Rove as a homosexual? Don't look for a message, though, beyond the obvious "George W. Bush screwed up the entire world in the last eight years because he is stupid and trying to impress his Dad." That may be entirely true or the truth may be more nuanced, but there it is. Not an original insight. The only celebrity at the opening was James Cromwell. Oddly, I believed him as Prince Phillip in "Queen" but watching him here just kept bringing to mind that dippy role he had in "Six Feet Under." He spoke before about how important this film is as a sort of political history. Um, no. "Bush's Brain" was all that. Of course, it was a documentary. This was a confection. One you may enjoy, but it doesn't dig into aspects of history that might not be obvious like "JFK" does.

Well, we could have listened to James speak after the movie or queued to see another movie. What we actually did was go with a friend to Ruth's Chris again and discuss "W." while eating and drinking. FFP watched the baseball game. (A pillar intervered with my watching but a play-by-play from FFP and other patrons watching was interesting.)

So, after Part 1 of the festival I have to say: the Manhattans and the carpaccio at Ruth's Chris are to die for! And I love being amidst the movie folk.

Confused and Displacing

This picture (taken on South Congress in March) is here because I'm displacing from things I should be doing and because I'm in a confused state. Things are falling apart faster than I can organize them. It's enough to make you drink and watch TV I tell you.

Never Blog When Drinking

I'm not inclined to take my own advice, am I?

I've had various random things to say to my readers today, but life intervened. A Caesar Salad intervened because we had a surfeit of anchovies in a pantry that needed cleaning . Trying to build an environment on the iMac to please FFP intervened.

I wanted to say that we were trying to not just give things away, but use things up. Hence, the anchovies. I had FFP buy Romaine Lettuce so we could use the anchovies. And some fresh garlic. Just as I've had him buy apples a few times in the past few weeks to make tuna salad to use up the tuna. No more can goods until we move, she said forcefully. But FFP bought a jar of sweet relish because I used the last on the tuna. And so it goes.

We've been drinking up corners of whiskey, too. I finished the Woodward, the Jack Daniels Single Barrel, the Blanton's. (Not all tonight, I assure you. Over the last weeks.) I've moved on to some Canadian. We had a bottle of wine with the Caesar. It was a white and over a decade old but surprisingly good. With garlic and anchovies anyway.

I also wanted to say that I've come to appreciate wireless. See the picture? That's my old Sony tower sprouting wires. Of course, a camera battery charger and my laptop, charging, is there, too. My laptop is reflecting the green outside which I find amusing.

My new setup with the iMacs have fewer wires. Even though they are hard-wired to the TimeMachine, they still only have power and an Ethernet wire. They do wireless but backups to the TimeMachine are faster with the wire. One has a wired keybaord. Otherwise, sleek, sleek, sleek. We are looking for sleek. Having monitor, USB, keyboard, mouse, printers, it's less than sleek. I'm sure we will have too many wires in the condo, too, but we are doing what we can. We will have two printers. One will be on the Ethernet itself, though.

It seems I had other things to say to my readers, but I drank the wine and the whiskey. Not all the wine nor all the whiskey. But enough.

By the way, thanks for all the responses to my (it did seem needy, didn't it?) post about tens of readers. Actually, I don't care if you read and don't comment, folks. It's fine. In fact, the comments have to be moderated (or else there is silly spam because the blog is open). It's all just easier if you e-mail me when you really want to talk. Or we go to lunch or dinner or meet up at a charity event. (You know who you are.) And if you miss reading? Don't feel bad. I don't know why I blog, but it isn't to connect with you guys. I like to do that in other ways.

By the way, some strong boys who work for a charity came and took a four-drawer file cabinet today. And we did more shredding. And filled recycling bags. Progress was made, by golly.

Overwhelmed

Dad's surgery almost overwhelmed me. [This is an overwhelmed self-portrait, huh? What with the King (Elvis) on Velvet and the traffic that it looks like I'm in the middle of.] He took it in stride. Except in the recovery room they said he was 'in pain' and agitated. I spoke with a nurse on the phone and then she let me go into the recovery room to 'help wake him up' as his breathing was shallow and she had given him oxygen to get the levels up. She had given him Dilaudid. I ask if he was in pain. She said his eye hurt and then he had a headache. He said 'not too much.'

"He hasn't had anything to eat or drink since seven last night." I said. It was six o'clock in the evening.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asked him. She named some juice choices. Water. Coffee.

"Jack Daniels." he joked.

"He's joking with you. He's OK."

He swilled the apple juice but was less interested in a saltine. We got him up in a chair and got him coffee and more juice. They had an anesthesiologist look at him. Finally they let him go home. It was nearly eight. He had me stop at the grocery store and get him some take out fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Yeah, why not.

He seemed OK at home and I stayed a good while with him waiting to see if he could get back to a routine with his big eye patch. He was really sleepy. But that's one more surgery he survived and the surgeon said there was lots of scarring and it was hard to get the retina to take shape again but it did.

I was worn out when I got home. Still, I tried to look over my e-mail and respond to stuff and think what all I needed to take care of. And I treated myself to a Picon Bière, a drink I love that consists of pouring a light lager over a French liqueur called Picon that you cannot buy in the U.S. any longer. I watched a movie I'd recorded: "Six Degrees of Separation." I really liked it. My kind of movie, but I'd never seen it. I read a little in the newspaper. And so it goes. I stayed up too late. But today I have a tennis game, I take my dad to the doctor for patch removal and exam and I have a social event. In between maybe I'll get some of the things on my 'to do' list done. But I don't feel so overwhelmed. Hospitals are like that. Did I catch up on my reading at least? Not so much. I read The Austin Chronicle and my book about Krakatoa a bit and read the Monday Arts section from The New York Times and worked the puzzle therein. I tried to read my book in the recovery room with the beeping machines and me saying to my dad "Breathe deeply, Pop." "Deep Breath, Daddy." He looked old and fragile in the recovery room. (I was not amused when the gal who came to get me in the gift shop said she knew I was his daughter because I looked just like him.)

I Was Drinking Wild Turkey

The photo looks like a bleak wintery scene but really it is the reflection of our new home (and power lines and trees) in the window of a guitar store on South Lamar.

If you ask me if it worries me to be committed to paying cash for a tiny piece of that building this summer with no buyer for our current 'ranch' I'd have to say, well, yeah, a little.

But that wasn't why I was drinking Wild Turkey.

We have some people coming today to look at the house informally. Friends. Who might be interested when the time comes. And the house is a disaster with closets and shelves and cabinets turned inside out as we sort and eliminate.

But, no, that wasn't the excuse for the Wild Turkey, ice and water.

I was watching Super Tuesday coverage, marveling at (1) how excited people get about their candidates; and (2) how some states voted for people I would do a write-in against if pressed.

And maybe a little whiskey is in order while watching shows about politics. But everyone knows I prefer Jack Daniels Black Label or a single-barrel craft Bourbon, don't they?

I didn't feel perfect either but for my particular ailment I knew that a certain dose of Advil was more likely a cure than whiskey.

I had a conversation with a friend:

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting here drinking Wild Turkey and watching the election."

"Why are you drinking?"

"Because so many people I know can't!" I asserted. And, while several friends have nasty diseases and treatments precluding alcohol, that wasn't really it either. And why Wild Turkey?

I sort of felt like having a drink. I sort of wanted FFP to make me a Bloody Mary from our friend Al's recipe, but I decided I should have something I mixed myself. There was a giant bottle of Wild Turkey in the pantry and only a 'corner' left in it. So no big mystery. A drink sounded good. I could recycle a giant bottle. And ice and filtered water were readily available.

It tasted good, too, and I suppose it made me nod over the politics before it was all too much and made me ill.

Favorite Aunt

I like my dad's youngest sister and the man she married. Because of their fierce independence and their willingness to keep going and come back from accident and illness to reclaim that. This is a picture of lobster pots on the dock in Maine when we visited their (summer) home in 2005 and went to the coast for a lobster and steamer clam feed and a look at the scenery. I wish they wouldn't maintain two homes. One in the middle of nowhere Maine and a rented apartment in the Dallas area. It's too complex, I think, when you are getting older. I mean we are almost two decades younger and we are simplifying. But still. I love the way they embrace life, the way my uncle hints that we need to go eat a bunch of raw oysters and exults when we do it, the way they have their cocktail at 4PM, health and situation permitting. When they are in Texas they sometimes manage a trip down here, but they always seem to manage a trip to Memphis to gamble. You have to love it. But I worry, yeah, that one day they won't be able to manage it all.

Time and Space

I was feeling an extra dollop of my usual end-of-year not exactly depression but, well, a sadness. It has nothing to do with the holidays, really. It's just that a year-end and a quarter-end means all kinds of taxes and stuff that just aren't fun. Plus it's only a few months until I want to get my stuffed pared down to condo-size and close on another home so we will temporarily have too many homes.

Today's picture shows a little miniature store full of miniature things. It belonged to my mother After she died, I gave almost all the miniatures away. She had a lot of them. I gave most of them to my sister in Colorado but a few to other people to remember her. I photographed a lot of them before I packed them to give away. How funny is this? A miniature pile of 'stuff' in a miniature junk store.

Anyway, so yeah, I was feeling sad. I'm always a little overwhelmed by W2/W3/1040/Texas Workforce/Sales Tax/Property Tax/Franchise Tax/941 and such and with the added stress of closing another residence and getting rid of all this stuff, it just was sort of taking the joy out of life.

And really there is nothing sadder in a way than going through a box of souvenirs from trips and wondering about the person you were and the person you wanted to become and never did. We have gotten rid of a bunch of stuff, though. Besides all the stuff I mentioned the other day, the garbage can got stuffed with a bunch of old business diaries of FFP's. And one of his old clients will send someone over to get press clippings and stuff he uncovered from the mid-eighties. I was pondering what to get rid of and what to keep out of some kitchen stuff that we had. Then I dropped and broke a ceramic oven/microwave pan. And, well, there you go. That's one the mover definitely won't have to deal with.

I'm cheering up somewhat now, caught in the space between the holidays when it's still too early to really deal with any of the tax forms and it's easy to take a small break from downsizing and go to a few parties and watch movies. And drink a little. Besides...I'm cautiously optimistic that my dental problems are getting better in some kind of maybe permanent way now that I've recovered from the root canal. Here's hoping.

So, really, no worries, right? I am pretty healthy, not hurting much of anywhere, can probably get all the taxes filed and paid (with a little professional help), can probably pull off buying the condo and when push comes to shove, get rid of all the junk in this house. And what, after all, can I do about any of it on a Saturday night in the holiday gulch between Christmas and New Year's Day? I think I'll just have a drink and do a little reading.

Don't Overthink It

My mouth has felt so much better the last couple of days. I still have the occasional dull ache that radiates from around the new crown up into my sinuses. But it is usually so mild now that I wouldn't notice it if I weren't looking for it. Sadly, I have to go to the dentist today for a cleaning and to check out my problems. I feel good enough that I don't want to go! Ah, well. Also the hygienist at my dentist's office has, of late, made me feel like I'd taken a beating. Admittedly it didn't last long. Not like the three months of various problems I've had with this crown thing.

But when you feel good, it's best not to overthink it. Just enjoy. Isn't it funny how, after you've felt a little bad, how good you feel when you don't feel bad anymore. Sort of better than good. And...I haven't had any Ibuprofin since early Monday. A little alcohol, though. I was telling a retired doctor at the gym about my difficulties. "Your dentist probably wouldn't recommend this," he said. "But a martini might help."

[Note: Photo is a detail of a found object art work I bought years ago.]