Many Prompts I Couldn't Follow

I didn't write a blog entry yesterday. I started one. The title was: "Objects of Desire." This was an old topic that I've written about until I seem to have exhausted my enthusiasm for it!

Yesterday I really had no excuse for not writing. I have, after all, made a list of over a hundred topics for my 'by the numbers' memoir. And I never showered or got out of my sweats that I slept in. I didn't leave the apartment. I put a few pieces in the jigsaw. I worked crosswords. My husband made some lunch and dinner. I wrote a few Christmas cards and letters and reviewed my bank accounts and bills. I read some of the three newspapers that arrive every day.

But I just couldn't write a blog entry!

I did get out of my jammy sweats to go out and play tennis today. And I took a shower. And I voted in a runoff election. We walked around taking a few pictures at hotels and other businesses of decorations. (See above.)

I still have lots of topics I want to explore: my boycott of football; the dynamics of keeping up with friends; graffiti; my aches, pains, injuries, and medical nihilism. But not today.

Looking Back

This is a photo taken in Spring 1949. That's my aunt in the shorts and saddle oxfords. She is 17. That's me on her lap, not yet one. The swing was on our farm in a very large Pecan tree.The field behind us belonged to us (or, actually, my granddad as did the whole farm and house). I think I see some cattle out there. Looking back over sixty-five years. I worshiped this aunt, but I'm so small here that I don't think I'm very sure of her as yet. I have that dark hair like my mother. It is weird but I can almost recognize this baby in this blurry picture as me. I remember the swing from later when it was still there and I could swing on it myself. My aunt looks young but the face is definitely hers. She is the only one of my dad and his siblings still alive. She's recovering from a shoulder replacement and the fall that precipitated it. She sounded good on the phone a couple of days ago.

The end of the year is a time for looking back, isn't it? I've been fumbling through old pictures and scanning them. I got this one out of a decaying photo album of my mother's a few years ago and put it and the other pictures in these non-reactive sleeves.I'd never noticed the saddle oxfords until I was processing this scan.

Taking stock of 2014 I'm thinking that I failed to accomplish much. But I did scan this picture and discover those shoes. And that's something.

It's Beginning to Look

Yep. There I am by the Christmas tree. Not our tree, but, um, the tree at the Driskill hotel in the beautiful lobby. We were walking around Thursday night and went into several places with trees and got pictures. It got dull quickly and we went for food and drink. The season isn't really so bright for me.

I am still intent on answering all the holiday cards I receive with a little personal note. However, we are only a few days in and I have two pending ones so I may not get that done.  I guess I fail at Christmas. Or Happy Holidays or whatever others are celebrating. (Christmas is the one celebrated in my childhood before I new other traditions existed.)

And that's about all I've got today.

Is there a Draft? Do I Measure Up?

I can't seem to post here. There are a half dozen or more drafts sitting around unposted. They include pictures, edited and re-edited thoughts, tags. But I do not hit publish.

I tweet. Which is all I can do, it seems with my head full of my reaction to current allergens in Central Texas. (The pollen of the mountain juniper aka 'cedar' and mold.)

Maybe I'll edit some of that junk and publish it. Or maybe I'll just keep tweeting and having the tweets fire off to facebook. It's come to that.

I do like this picture, though. Good old Uncommon Objects.

Between the Inevitable and the Immutable

I was not looking forward to going to Dad's today. I was getting out of the house to play tennis and so it made sense to go a bit further north and see after a few things for him though.

The other day I had to tell him his sister died. Not easy. Today I was just taking the obituary for him to read. (It had been sent as a scan via e-mail to me by a cousin.) Today I had to tell him how much he owed the tax man and how much he'd have to make in quarterly payments because he had an unusual bump in income. "I bet you get a refund next year if you live long enough." He allowed that he wouldn't pay the tax man until April. "Maybe I won't have to do it," he said. "Yeah, I'd have to do it." We joke like this all the time. We know that none of us live forever and none of us know when the time will come.

Death and taxes. The inevitable for us mortals. And even politicians have to die.

There was an old wives' tale that I always heard that your fingernails and toenails kept growing after you died. Then I read somewhere that it wasn't true. That the tissue around them shrank back and made it appear true. Whatever. I trimmed my dad's toenails for him. He'd soaked his feet to make it easier. He talked about the horse stepping on the one toe and how he'd had to stay off of it and so he had to stay inside and cook and wash dishes and strain milk, etc.

"I didn't have a crutch. Do you know what I did?"

I did, but I didn't say so.

"I used a straight chair and put my knee in it and moved around the house that way.

I gave my dad a book I bought for him about Iceland. He said he was going to spend the afternoon reading it. I also took him a bottle of champagne in a gift bag with a Valentine's Day Card signed from us and him. It is for his good friend Maja. She is from Iceland and, in fact, took my dad on a trip there. She gives him rides and meals. My sister and I call her 'the good daughter.'

While I was playing tennis and having a fine time on the muddy clay on a day the hard courts were dangerously slick when we started, I was kind of depressed about having to talk to my dad about death and taxes and trim his toenails because his back won't allow him to do it. (When he could still drive he went somewhere and got a pedicurist to do it. I think he went to a place he'd taken Mom for mani/pedi.) But when it was all done, I felt better. Dad wrote a check for the CPA cheerfully. He was pleased with his gift for Maja. And he was excited to have a new book that interested him to occupy his afternoon. (Actually it was only new to him. I bought it in the antiquarian book store on 12th Street.)

[Photo is a reflection in a shop on West Sixth. Thought of using it for the March theme day ('glass') for City Daily Photo, but I think I'll find another.]

Stories from Before My Memory

"I'm sure your mother told you this dozen of times," he said this morning. Well not that I remembered. "We went to a party at the Russell's over near the old highway at Wilson Creek. They were having kind of a rodeo party, people were riding their horses. Someone [he actually named the woman but I have forgotten it in the last hour] saw your mother and said, 'Dixie you should have brought a basket.' We got home and about two in the morning [he hesitated here and I thought he was going to say her water broke or something but he continued] we went to the hospital." I knew I was born around four in the morning. I never remember hearing about the party ala rodeo or the basket comment. And I guess I didn't realize my mom hadn't been at the hospital very long when I was born. That's me above, ten months old, in a picture my maternal granddad carried around in his wallet apparently.

When I call my dad, we have discussions that ramble on. Since I call every morning we have to talk about something. Somehow this morning we drifted onto his father. And onward from there to family and the fact that he only had two sisters left of five sisters and a brother. "My father served the purpose of a father. He loved his girls, but didn't give a damn for us boys. He thought he should retire at 55."

"He should have retired at 55 if we was going to get a retirement." My paternal granddad died a few months before I was born at 67.

"Yeah. He was out running the combine the week before he died. He never really did retire."

Family history. We think things are momentous. Historic. We snap pictures of our children. Of graduations and weddings. And then gradually things fade. I often riffle through old pictures for sale in junk shops and wonder at the people whose precious memories are now just another bit of detritus.

As Others See Us

When I walked with a friend last week he shot this picture of me shooting a picture. I usually show you me as I see myself, a reflection or shadow. Boy I'm fat. Fortunately I don't see myself as fat. (Well, in the bathroom mirror after a shower, but other than that, no.) What do people see when they see you? (Or, um, me?) Very complex topic.

Austin's skyline is sure changing. You alter views when you build up a high, dense city.

I don't know how other people see me, really. I don't worry about it too much. I just try to be myself, to pay attention to other to gain their perspective and go forward. But I do have a me I see and imagine that I suspect is nothing like what anyone sees.

I think this imagined persona one has is often far from what others see. But this new president seems to be one of those people who knows what people see and who is in control of that. He even seems to really be that person.

Designer Me

I never really got the concept of designer jeans. Oh, I guess I understood that you could add some stitching, a certain fit (although Levis offers fits galore), some rhinetones, some creative fading and even some wear you wouldn't have to put on them yourself. I guess I'd rather design my life myself. I wear Men's 34x30 Levis in 550 or 560 fits. The former only fit when I weigh less than 165. They come in a white-washed blue, regular washed blue and black over dye. The latter are best for travel, showing little grime and topped with a nice collared shirt and blazer, able to sneak where their more denim-looking breathen will not.

This is a shop window reflection from the very high-end Julian Gold store on West Sixth. I've never been inside except when it was a very cool travel store called TravelFest in which we invested. (We lost our money. We weren't bailed out. But I digress.)

We are all designing our lives. We decide whether to go to the gym or walk the lake. (Or, you know, just sit here blogging.) We decide whether to put up with congestion or take an OTC drug. We decide, in fact, when to see doctors for tests and treatments. We decide what to wear, first by buying stuff and then by selecting. We decide on our haircut (maybe our hair color). Glasses? What style? Or...contacts. We pick a car, a place to live. We study for a certain career, take a job or not. We pick our hobbies. Tennis? Who will we play with? How competitive will we be? Will we take lessons? Bridge? Casual or serious duplicate for points? We decide what to eat and when. Coffee or no? (This morning our coffee machine, the expensive Jura E8 was acting up. I knew we had this problem before and couldn't remember how to fix it. We called the 800 concierge number and we were up and running in a minute.) Yeah, we decide what appliances to own. Coffee at home or out. (We could go downstairs in the morning now and get coffee at the shop in the building or one just across the street. I was about to do that when we got our machine working.)

We decide when we go out and when we stay home. We decide when to travel. (Maybe our employer decides, but still we make lots of decisions along the way.) Lots of people chose to be in Washington, standing in the cold watching that concert on the Lincoln Memorial. OMG, who was NOT there? Me. I was home watching it after the fact off the DVR. "Who is that?" Rewind. "Oh, Pete Seeger's grandson."

When we are at our computers, we decide what mail to answer. We decide what blogs to read, what news to watch. Today I decided to download some backup and sync software because I read about it in The New York Times because I decided to read the NYT last night instead of reading a book. We have the Times because we decided to subscribe years ago and are powerless to stop. It's an addiction.

What will I choose today and what differences will it make as I bump against all the other choosers (or is that deciders as GWB said?) and their choices?

Life is fascinating after the first couple of cups of coffee, huh?

Not Daily

Happy Day of the Dead (Dia de Los Meurtos). I didn't do a Visible Woman entry yesterday. I'm intentionally (or unintentionally, hard to say), not being a daily blogger here. Last year I signed up for National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) and tried to post every day in November. I'm not doing that this year. I'm keeping up with Austin Daily Photo. I may return to The Journal of Unintended Consequences but the material for that has been overwhelming lately. So many possible topics, so little time. Last year I also signed up for Holidailies, a wonderful portal run by my friends Jette and Chip. Somehow I don't think they will be doing it this year. If they did, though, I might sign up. Otherwise not daily. Not me, not so much. (If you write a blog I read daily, please keep it up. I like to find you every day. If you write a blog I read when you post, keep posting.)

I ran a better picture than this one on Austin Daily Photo today. It makes me laugh. Me and the devil skeleton. As one.

The days are slipping away. And I'm not keeping up. Not in the blogosphere. Not with my chores. Not with my reading. Not with my personal journal where I keep losing entire days. Certainly not with my Unwritten Works.

There is that extra hour they gave me this morning. But, I've wasted it, of course.

In The Belly of the Beast

How was the trip to the spa? Relaxing, invigorating, refreshing. How was it to come home? Jangling.

Oh, maybe I didn't tell you. Back in June we went to a benefit for Aids Services Austin and the Capital Area AIDS Legal Aid Project. One live auction item was a two night stay at Lake Austin spa and a 'treatment' (massage, etc.) credit for two people. This place is pricey. We opened the bidding and after some confusion found out that there were no other bidders. We promised ourselves that when we achieved escape velocity from the real estate maelstrom that we would actually go out there. And we did it! FFP arranged everything. He called the spa about twenty times so he was famous before we ever got there.

Monday we left early and got there in time to be offered some breakfast and coffee and got to see Billy Yamaguchi present his Feng Shui beauty tips. He was really sweet and he recommended stuff to FFP like new glasses and wearing some different colors and getting a buzz cut. And he said he'd do my hair with these scissors that cut different lengths so your hair spikes. Ladies were lining up to get five hundred dollar sessions with him.

From there it was all about massages, exercise classes, eating many tiny, healthy portions of food, relaxing and reading. They create such an utterly peaceful feeling somehow. It made returning to the real world of traffic, board meetings, medical tests for my dad and the reality of the condo issues a jangling contrast.

Truthfully I can capture a peaceful feeling in my condo or on the hike and bike. Just got to do it.

Photo was taken last month with a reflection of a toy store on South Congress.

Stopping to Reflect

Time for reflection has been largely missing until the last week or so, but finally there has been time to slowly and calmly ponder things. I've even had time to go through a few old photos and receipts and try (and fail) to catch up on my newspaper reading. I've been nervous the last two days while lighting was installed. That's almost done, though, and the condo is peaceful and calm. Over my shoulder, FFP is typing either a column or an e-mail and making a phone call. My desk is neat as a pin. I've done my daily checking of financial stuff. I have a couple of hours before a dinner date and can read or watch TV. Or, you know, blog.

There has been much going on in the world while we worried our little corner of it. The Olympics and that little dust-up between Russia and Georgia. Now the U.S. Open of Tennis and the Democratic Convention. I've satisfied myself with random bits of the programming, mostly consumed off the DVR. I'd be trying to clean up something or follow a workman around or fret over where I'd hidden something and I'd walk by the TV and see a bit of synchronized swimming or whatever, watch and marvel and go on. They repeated Michael Phelps' feats (and that of his relay teammates) endlessly so you couldn't miss those. I'm going to keep up with the U.S. Open similarly. I caught a few shots today between the times the electricians cut off power to the living room.

It's feeling comfortable here (although I really wish my comfy office chair would come in). I have stuff to catch up on that I've let go while trying to move out, move in, fix up, change address, etc. A teeth cleaning, a car maintenance and a haircut come to mind. Always something more to do. The Austin social season is cooking up also and events are starting to edge onto the calendar from September to May. I'd like to plan some trips.

But, hey, right now I think I'll catch a little tennis and finish reading the Sunday newspaper.

Smiles

We went to Larry Peel's 75th Birthday Benefit Roast on Monday. Caymus Vineyards provided some excellent wine and the ladies in this picture probably had a glass. Or two. Me, of course, Ann Clark, Diane Carr, Megan (Larry's assistant, her last name eludes me) and Deborah Peel. This was taken as the last of the party broke up. I showed Deborah's shoes on Austin Daily Photo. So I thought I'd show our smiling faces over here.

I am not getting enough done these days. I seem to swither, hovering over my 'to do' list, thinking that organizing it will actually get the work done. As if. Plus I continue to swither over my new computer environment and, I confess, enjoy learning some new things. It's a joy to type on this new sleek screen. I also confess that when I have 'duties' to take me away from the house and my 'to do' list that I am relieved. Today I am taking my dad to lunch, helping him tidy up the house and taking him for a haircut. And I have a board meeting this evening. On the one hand I'm delighted when there is a blank day on the calendar. On the other I'm glad something hanks me away. Go figure.

You're in Good Hands

Our reliable handy people won't be working after tomorrow for a while. (They are a couple. He has to have some serious surgery and she has to take care of him.) So we have to find some new people for window cleaning and painting and such. I like things to be fixed. I'm not so handy myself. (Although before we moved into this house we painted the kitchen cabinets ourselves because we were so appalled at the decorating travesties. Yeah, I used to paint. Perhaps not well but I painted.) Sigh.

Photo was taken on Second Street the other day. I think.

Confessions of a Downsizer

Action, inaction? Truly doing something or just in motion?

In order to get stuff out of one spot, I have moved it to another. Eliminating and sorting some things, yes. Another pile has slipped off to the thrift store. There are things in my car to deliver to someone and people promising to come by for things we offered them. It seems to be wasted motion just moving stuff about, but it does winnow it down almost like water abrading rock.

I continue to find keys that open I know not what and yet no key for the locking metal cabinet I want to give away. I continue to make piles of old computer accessories, cables, coax cable, phone cords, etc. that I'm getting rid of. (Still a 'parts is parts' box is essential around here and I'm keeping a few things. The computer guy looked around the other day and wanted a couple of Cat-5 cables to wire the iMacs to the network to speed up the initial Time Machine operation.)

I continue to fill boxes with stuff for 'found object' projects for school kids and to find caches of office supplies. Sometimes I feel if I get all the like items together (a flotilla of flashlights, a storm of staplers) that I can decide what to keep now and what to keep for the condo. And, yes, I'm moved to wonder when we acquired all the stuff.

Some days I think of what is gone. Coffee tables, bookcases (at least six or seven), a flat file, a handcrafted chair, an old clock, a chair and ottoman, an antique dresser, two recliners, a decades old TV, a small TV, two couches, a breakfront, tables and chairs, many knick-knacks and books. A few things to the parents houses, but others gone on their way in the supply chain. And that's just recent departures. Over the years we have shuffled many more chairs, couches, tables and little items through our clutches. Piles of stuff have left via curbside mall, giveaways and the thrift store. Where does it end? Well, hopefully, the condo will be less forgiving about accumulation. We will see.

The picture is a reflection of the window of Hog Wild with the abandoned Action Lock shop across the way.

By the way, I don't have much time to blog. I started this yesterday and finished it today while pondering what to do over my first cup of coffee. Back to moving stuff around!

I Should Have Thought of That Before

The shop window is on North Loop at a joint called Room Service. I wish I'd thought to take reflection photos sooner in my life although I have been doing it for some years...since before digital cameras completely took over my photography.

There are lots of things I wish I'd thought to do sooner.

Since there is no escape from a Visible Woman blog entry without a mention of the 'd word' (downsizing) I wish I would have thought long ago about the consequences of storing everything I purchased in a smaller space than this one. When I moved to Austin, I had a mover bring a single mattress, box springs, an old dresser, some modular furniture, a bumper pool table, kitchen stuff and a few odds and ends. I stuffed my VW bug with other stuff. Before I married FFP I foolishly bought a couch and some bar stools. We crammed all our worldly combined goods into a house smaller than our new condo will be. It worked OK. It was a little tighter when FFP started his business in that house. When we moved to this house, we stretched to fill the rooms. The house was smaller then. Our answer to our accumulation seemed to be: add more house. But then we would redecorate the new areas. We got rid of lots of stuff, of course, during these upheavals. But then acquired even more.

I wish I would have thought sooner about carefully cataloging the things I did decide to keep. I'm working hard now to have all the ephemera and books I keep cataloged before we move. The flip side of this (another day's entry?) is the way I start organization like that full of good intentions and then fall away into a maelstrom of chaos and entropy. [Ed. Note: A facile excuse to use (or misuse) three words you like?] [LB: Facile? Who's talking?]

Anyway. I wish I'd thought sooner to more carefully label and date all the files and photos on my computer.

I was thinking this morning after we took a big load of stuff to the thrift store yesterday: it would have been interesting to photograph all the stuff we got rid of before giving it away or selling it. Too late. But it would have been interesting. By the way, in the last couple of days we have gotten rid of a coffee table (oak, handmade, bought at a charity auction), an old Sony cabinet TV we bought about thirty years ago that still worked, a VCR and a VHS player, several dozen books, and some glasses and knick knacks. (Actually the last of these are just queued up to go to the thrift store, but that counts.)

By the way, for those of you who look for The Visible Woman every day, I encourage you to use the RSS because I have to move some computer equipment and I have a busy social schedule for the next three days and my tech guy and I are going to be getting some new computer equipment going so...I may have to let go the circadian nature of this blog and use the time more, er, wisely.

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.

Don't Encourage Her

My friend the playwright treated me to lunch yesterday (we take turns) and while we discussed his upcoming reading and Frontera Fest entry he somehow managed to encourage my shop window reflections. He went so far as to say I should have a show. Ha. Well, I have the artist's statement after all. So you have my friend the playwright to blame for this 2005 example. I tried to remember where I was when I took this and I finally did but only by consulting old journals I have online where I used a similar but even tighter crop and showed the picture before.

I don't think I'll be inviting you readers to a show of my photos any time soon. But you may be subjected to more of them in this space.

Meanwhile I am still blowing my nose and such but somehow I feel I've turned a corner in fighting this allergy or whatever it is. I hope so because I'm going to try to exercise, make a meeting and accomplish some things in the great downsizing of 2007 and 2008. Or maybe I will just enjoy feeling better and sit here and drink coffee until time for the meeting. There is a danger in feeling better. You might just revel in it unproductively.

At a Glance

This picture was taken in November of 2006. I don't really remember taking it, but there is no doubt in my mind (nor probably in yours if you are a frequent visitor here or know me in person) that the shadowy figure on the left, reflected in the window is me. For visitors who aren't 'from around here' I would point out, too, that the nine-banded armadillo is having a tea party in the window. He is undoubtedly real (but stuffed). We see armadillos like this around here occasionally, live and (mostly) as road kill. But that really has nothing to do with my point today. Rather I'm interested in how certain I would be (and maybe you, too) that the dark shadow is me.

It's funny how we can recognize people at a glance with only the smallest clues. When I've only met people a couple of times, I'm terrible at it. But after being around them a while I can hear their voice or laugh around a corner or see a gesture or body type or body language from afar and know for sure who it is. I can't always describe the people I know. I may forget what color their hair is or how they groom it or even whether men have facial hair. I may not be able to describe how they walk or move their hands. But the sum total of those clues makes me recognize someone with no doubt in my mind. It's a tribute to how different each person is (even though they fall into clear 'type' categories) and to how our brains work.

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."

Which of Me?

Which one do you want?

The so-so daughter making an not-so-early welfare call to her dad because she slept late? (I offered to do for him as he wasn't feeling great but he had gotten his paper in, was skipping church and 'has everything he needs' according to him.) ??

The friend who agreed to skip going to the gym and go to brunch and give advice on maneuvering toward sanity in the workplace and realizing your creative goals even though she has almost forgotten how to do the former and is not so good at the latter?

The spouse who makes the bed; folds the laundry you so kindly sorted, washed and dried; picks up on your sudden burst of cleaning and discarding and helps get some few cubic feet discarded including going through the dreaded coffee/tea/spice/flour/sugar cabinet?

Yeah, I'm all those people today.

Took this picture of myself using the shop window at Uncommon Objects as a lens last Thursday. I call this 'Many Mes.' Ha.

Today was one of those days when I was probably going to have a little trouble motivating myself. So it was a day when it helps to be pulled into someone else's needs, or intellectual discussion or coffee cup sorting.