A Guide to Avoiding the Mall

Surely that person on your list needs a cowboy hat, a bowling pin or a secondhand thermos. Yeah...you can skip the mall and go to the flea market to finish off your list. (This one is held on Burnet Road some Sundays.)

Seriously, malls scare me. The big retailers organize so that once you get inside you can't find a path that leads either out of the mall or into the mall's interior. Once FFP and I were shopping (for linens if you must know) and we ask another couple how to get out of the store and they said they'd been trying for ten minutes to do it. An employee, when asked, looked like we had ask how to sign up to fly to the moon. We did escape, of course, because I'm here today blogging. But I'm not sure how.

I will finish this Christmas season, I hope, with no trips to the mall. Unless you count when we went to the AMC Barton Creek to see The Departed. The movies are right inside a door to the mall. Still we parked a long way off and even though I took note of the aisle marker when we were going in, there seemed to be no such sign when we came out. There was probably a hiked-up pickup or an SUV parked in front of it. We found our car, however. I had a companion. I never go to the mall without a companion to help lose the car. It helps to have someone to bitch about it with.

Nope...I stuck to shopping at places like Costco, Sam's, Container Store, World Market, Crate and Barrel, Target. You gotta remember where you park but you can find your way out. Actually, you can do a lot of shopping in smaller places. I shopped this year at independent toy stores and at a gift shop on South Congress called Monkey See/Monkey Do (I think). Also at Tesoros Trading, famous because they may lose their iconic location to a hotel. You might pay a little more, but there is some satisfaction in buying toys at Toy Joy or Over the Rainbow. While I scored my rubber chicken and egg at Terra Toys (no longer on SoCo but on Anderson Lane), that joint has gotten a little too chaotic for me. You can always shop on South Congress where, if you don't find what you want among the gift shops available on the dominant (west) side of the street, you can brave the crossing and go to Ten Thousand Villages where they sell things people make in areas where selling you some geegaws can be an important business. And when you are tired of looking, you can go to Guero's or El Sol y Luna or sit at the bar in South Congress Cafe or Vespaio or Enoteca and eat snacks and start the inveitable drinking.

I did shop online, too. For Game Boy Advance SP boxes and games for them. Shopping in a store for this wouldn't be an option. Because I was confused online and had to get the parents of the recepients to put the stuff in a wish list and let me pluck it out of there!

The mall? I don't think so. Unless, you know, to see another movie.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

In 2004, I decided to give a Christmas party. It was going to be 'have a few friends in for a drink' but it grew. And grew. About fifty people came. I always try to anticipate everything when entertaining. If I'm not mistaken I had a DVD of a fireplace on the TV. I had wine, beer, soft drinks, water, coffee with whipped cream, liqueur. Lots of food.

FFP has a good selection of Christmas music but I got a wild hair and went on Rhapsody and bought a CD entirely of different artists singing "Have Yourself a Merry Christmas." From country to blues to jazz to rock. Covering the ground from Travis Tritt to Chicago to Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Ella. I slipped this in the player with FFP's selections. During the party it seemed to shuffle over to this CD improbably frequently. And every time it did, in spite of the wildly different styles and interpretations, it drove FFP crazy. We finally popped it out and put another disk in.

Imagine my surprise then to climb into his car in July and hear this CD on rotation in his car.

"I like it," he said. Maybe it made him feel cooler in the sweltering July in Austin. Maybe he'd come to appreciate listening to the style differences. He loves to cut CDs with a lot of artists doing the same song.

Now he thinks we should make a disk of "Christmas Song." You know the one that begins "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...." I don't believe we have chestnut trees in Texas so that was always pretty nonsensical to me until 1972 when I was on my hippie tramp around Europe and discovered chestnuts being sold on the street by vendors with charcoal braziers. I love them, by the way.

So...how did I get off on that? Well, the writing prompt at Holidailies was "Holiday music: essential part of the season, or 'no way, it makes my ears bleed'?" I think my conclustion is that I like the music part. It has a certain purity. But I prefer something beyond the straight up interpretations. But NO CHIPMUNKS! And every fifty tracks or so throw in Robert Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas from the Family." Just to remind us of the basic insanity we've introduced into the holiday.

About today's Christmas photo: This shop window is from a new boutique in Rosedale Village on Burnet Road. I haven't been inside because I suspect they specialize in sizes 0-4.

LB's Christmas Shopping Guide

Gift-buying and gift-getting are as ethereal as this picture, a reflection of the Top Drawer thrift store window on Burnet Road.

Christmas. When I was a kid I was all about shaking packages and sneaking looks. I was excited and I wanted to know what I was going to get. Gifts have always disappointed me a little when the wrapping was off, however. But at least there were lots of things I wanted back then.

Now that I'm at a place where I really want almost nothing, however, things are easier. I express my thanks and move on. I can barely come up with a list of what I might want for Christmas, but it would go something like this: (1) new tennis shoes; (2) a bathing suit; (3) a black cashmere V-neck sweater; (4) money to put my 8MM/Super 8 movies on DVD. No one could get me these things. I'd need to get them myself. Now I could go online and shop for all of this right now, but the reason I haven't done so is simply that shopping is such a pain. So, but for that, I'd have everything I want or need, I think. Oh, sure, I have my eye on computing gear and a new digital camera. But I'm just not ready to buy.

Buying things for other people is fun and I hate to give up doing it but I wish I could avoid the agony of trying to buy things that will thrill people. After all, most people I'd be buying for have everything they need and most of what they want. And, yes, there are charities out there and yes we contribute but that's different. There are people who need clothes and furniture and food. There are homes where the kids don't have every conceivable toy. For that you don't need LB's Christmas Shopping Guide because those people usually give a pretty detailed shopping list. It's just a matter of locating what they need or want.

So I take the low road and send money a lot of the time.

But there are a few family members and a couple of friends that I feel should get a real present. For the extended family I print a simple no frills month-by-month calendar with the holidays plus family birthdays and anniversaries. My aunts appreciate this, the cousins perhaps less so (I offer the info online,too). I don't know how many realize it is their 'gift' and not just something they get every year.

For my sister and her clan in Colorado I feel they should get something tangible. I provide money occasionally, but I feel I should buy things, too. A few years ago I decided that I'd just buy small, fun, sometimes silly things and mail them in a little santa sack for each person. Sort of like stocking stuffers. My oldest niece mailed the sacks back with their handmade tags intact. So they've gone back and forth a couple of years now. I felt I should fill them again. I can't remember all the things I sent before. So that was a problem. But I filled them. That's done. I entrusted them to UPS to deliver to my oldest niece to distribute.

My favorite little things that I sent this year? Little 512MB USB flash drives with password software. A small rubber chicken and egg. (When you squeeze it, a translucent egg with yolk pops out.) A stretchy rubber ape. For the kids (yeah, I gave those last two things to adults), I liked the combo whistle, compass, thermometer, magnifying glass things I got at REI. Also the medium-sized (three AAA batteries) LED flashlights. (I'm big on giving flashlights. Last year it was those wind-up no battery ones that I gave a few people.) The kids got Pez and Pez dispensers, of course. And little pull back school buses and rubber frogs and stuff. Classics. Like the Swiss Army Knives with corkscrews that I included for my nephews-in-law. (You know the guys who married my nieces.)

Other ideas for stocking stuffers: refrigerator magnets (I found some that had a calculator), note pads (some are magnetic for the frig or have a clip for the visor), pens, luggage tags, LED light keychains, keychains with pill fobs, luggage locks approved for TSA opening, mini bottles of favorite spirits, accessories for eyeglass wearers (I found a no fog glasses wipe and repair kits are handy, too). And you can find funny post-it notes for everyone. Little bars of fancy soap are nice.

Now all I have to do to finish my Christmas shopping is buy something for the old folks. They are 86, 90 and 96 and it's not easy to find stuff although our dads can usually be taken care of with books. On tape only for FFP's Dad because he can't see to read. My mother-in-law is more difficult. Hate to resort to a calendar again. Or pictures of us. Or fancy soap. Gadgets are risky. Although I have considered one of those electronic 'picture frames.' Nah.

There are three friends who should probably get a gift from me. But I'm not going to get something just to be getting. I'm going to try to find something they will really like. Yeah, I say that every year.

Yeah, well maybe the title was misleading. Maybe I'm the last person who should write a shopping guide.

It's Really Just the Smallest Things

I think we look for pleasure in large gulps. People around me are doing it and sometimes me, too. We want the grand trip, the expensive car, the giant flat screen TV (make that in a media room with special theater seats in a 5000-square-foot house). We want all the CDs and DVDs and downloads we will never have time to listen to or watch.

It never satisfies.

Satisfaction is enjoying the way a single photo looks on your blog. (This one is another from the series of shop window reflections.) Or a photo or turn of phrase from someone else's blog or e-mail. A friend of mine wrote me last night:

'By the way I've figured out the "Universe" has granted me parking karma because I'm not going marry, get rich or find a job I love. I guess it could be worse, I could have to park blocks away too.'

That made me laugh. A laugh is a precious little thing.

Satisfaction is seeing a movie (last night: The Departed) and then discussing it over a casual dinner (last night: Galaxy...I had a fish wrap, a single glass of Chardonnay and sweet potato fries).

Satisfaction is finishing some phase of holiday shopping and saying to yourself "OK, that's what those people get. I hope it works out." I finished shopping for my Colorado presents yesterday so I could mail them. I send little Santa sacks that everything has to fit in. Sort of like stocking stuffers. Sadly, I can't remember what I gave last year (or before that) in many cases so there are probably duplicates. Maybe they won't remember either! Or maybe it's something like a pen or notepad that you can always use. With the kids (6 and 4) there is the question of parity among brothers. Through it all and when it's over, though, I realize that it is the thought that counts. Really. See my ramblngs of a few days ago.

Satisfaction is working out in the gym for months and years and thinking nothing is happening and then flexing and feeling a muscle or going up some stairs and noticing you are not out of breath.

Satisfaction is having the time to rewatch a favorite movie or listen to a song for the umpeenth time.

Satisfaction is having the time to read and then finding a word you are unsure of and looking it up in the dictionary.

Satisfaction is taking the time to write something. Even a blog. Even using a writing prompt. Even if you suggested the prompt!

A Guide to the Visible Woman

Visible? Not so much. That's the main conundrum of my life. I like to be out there in cyberspace telling the details of every minute of every day. And yet. I like to be enigmatic and private and surprising.

Perhaps that's why you find so many photos with shop windows and just the vaguest reflection of yours truly.

The picture was taken yesterday on South Congress in Austin, Texas and the armadillo tea party is a creation of the folks at Uncommon Objects. The day was cold for us with a bitter wind.

I used to obsessively post all the publicity palatable events of my life. One can review some of this at the old, non-blogger site. At some points I was recording every morsel of food and rep of bicep curls. That got old. I had all these rules for posting from time to time. Essays every time, quote every day, picture every day. All these things were just ways to get something out each and every twenty-four hours.

I've lightened up. I use this blogging tool so I don't even have to date things. I ramble on and while I always insert a picture it may be largely irrelevant.

Usually when I post, I don't imagine anyone at all reading. And I'm usually not far from wrong. However, Holidailies, might drive some readers this direction. And, if so, welcome. These ramblings usually emanate from Austin, the Capital City of Texas. And I plan to spend the holidays here. So if you are interested in all things Central Texas, maybe you will find something here to please. Perhaps in a shop window with a nebulous reflection of your tour guide.

The Economics of Stuff

A couple of years ago I read this great article. I wish I could cite it properly or even, were it possible, hyperlink you to it. I looked in one folder where the original article might have been but it wasn't.

Anyway. I'm stealing this from something I read a while back somewhere. Could be The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal. Or not.

I found an article that I think references the article in question

The gist of this stolen material was that when we buy something there is an immediate loss of value. That proverb about the new car that is worth thousands of dollars less when you drive it off the lot. Yeah, that idea. But these guys had extended the idea to gifts and, the theory was, that a gift you buy is worth even less to the person who receives it than it would have been had he bought it for himself.

I can't help thinking of this every time the gift-giving season rolls around. I plunk down money for something and I feel this decline in value. It's sad. There must be a way to put a positive spin on it but I haven't found it.

I've been thinking about presents and buying some things. Bummer. Economic disaster.

The picture was taken Sunday at a flea market on Burnet Road. And, yeah, I know, sometimes stuff gets more valuable over time. That's just not the point, though.

Well, a little more digging has turned up an article in The Economist from December 2001 and I think it is the very one that triggers my thinking. And yet...if you click the link, this article ends up being upbeat. How could I have missed that? The thought may actually count. Even economically speaking.

Should I Practice or Save It?

I love daily bloggers. You can count on them to give you a little lift with their writing. Hardly the day passes that I don't check for updates from The Journal of a Writing Man and I'm rarely disappointed. I do frequent checks on Rob but he doesn't update every single day. So I'm not always rewarded.

Well, I signed up for Holidailies along with 150 or more other people and I'll be committed to writing from December 1 to January 1.

One question is should I waste words and pictures prior to the start of the daily rat race? Should I limber up now or should I be saving it?

Another question is what I should write about each day. Should I just tell what I did that day? You know: went to the gym, allegedly burned three hundred calories, ate nachos, drank beer, watched The Simpsons. Or should I have little daily rants with themes? Themes that could be generated from the day's events or come from nowhere. Or should I have an overall theme for the entire period? I actually thought of doing that...the overall theme thing. I thought of blogging about my neighborhood for the entire time.

The picture is from the South American coffee shop in our neighborhood: Pacha's on Burnet Road. I snapped it midway through a coffee and eggplant empanada on Sunday when FFP and I took the dog for a Burnet Road walk.

Hmmm...so what will it be? So many questions of so little importance! Also, I'm thinking maybe I should do this daily ranting, er, writing in my own space instead of here?

The Turkey Dies for Us

Cranberry this and that, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, green salad, spinach casserole, relishes, dressings, rolls, corn, squash casserole, pie, wine. Need I go on? There was probably more. One forgets. And the two turkeys, of course.

My cousin Bob operates on a smoked turkey in this photo.

We watched football. We tried to put together a jigsaw puzzle.

Yeah, that's Thanksgiving in our family.

Lots of family. No little kids though. This branch of my family is at this point where the generation younger than mine is grown but without children so far. That will probably change in a few years.

Holidailies

Anybody out there hungry for The Visible Woman postings? Anyone thinking "Gee, my December isn't busy enough...what I need to be able to do is see a few words from LB every single day from December 1 to January 1"? Yeah, that's what I thought. Still I signed up to do it. I'll be posting here on this blogging site at least once a day and registering one a day with Holidailies. I'll have lots of company. (There were 82 others signed up last I looked to participate fully and twelve pledging to update but without registering the entries.)

And speaking of hungry...is anybody up for turkey and pie and stuff? I'm with some family and I've already had a piece of pumpkin pie in honor of the season.

The holidays are officially here. On Lover's Lane in Dallas tonight I saw lighted Christmas displays. Why am I sort of ready for them to be over?

E.A.S.T.ern Art

The graffiti in this picture apparently refers to the latest show at AMOA (Austin Museum of Art) but I took it on the sidewalk at one of the 86 official locations in this year's East Austin Studio Tour in Austin. It was a lovely day and we started our eastwardly adventures by eating at the Eastside Cafe. Then we took in a few of the more northernly studios (including Karen Maness) and then a few of the more furthest south (including Art Amici where Jennifer Balkan was showing).

It was a glorious day starting cool and sunny and warming up to the point where the sunny spots felt warm and the shade felt cool.

This afternoon I saw the premiere of young Jake Sawyer's short film Downloader. A pretty ambitious undertaking from a teenager, this film showed a very adult sensibility and communicated obsessive compulsive behavior, office politics, office romance, paranoia and our Internet/drug/technology culture in a way you wouldn't really think a young kid would understand. Plus it had cops and stunts and lots more. John Merriman starred and was fabulous and funny and convincing from the beginning to the end. Young Jake directed a lot of adults in this short and did it well.

It's an artsy town, Austin. Radical NY indeed.

Where Does My Time Go?

Well, I drink a lot of coffee. It's time-consuming: the making, sipping, savoring and, if you make it at home, the cleaning. Yesterday we received our new Jura-Capresso E8 via UPS. I would tell you that it is a time-saver since it delivers each cup of coffee at the push of a button. (You have to add water, beans and do the occasional clean-out job, though.) But I'm not sure that's true. We shipped our mal-functioning, recalled (for potential electrical fire) and over six-year-old CA1000 back to the manufacturer (see this ancient journal entry for more on that device) and received this new one for a heavily discounted price. We are pleased. We spent a half hour setting it up before we watched Office last night.

That's the kind of thing I spend my time on. I am so lucky that I'm not dodging bullets and bombs in Iraq, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Pakistan or one of the many other spots on the earth where that is the norm. So that I can spend time drinking coffee. I'm so lucky I have power to power the Capresso, not to mention being able to own the machine itself.

I also spend time at my country club. I've noticed whole half days get consumed this way. Yesterday I went over there at 8:30. I played two sets of singles, rode an exercise bike and lifted a few weights, took a shower and met with the club manager to go over board business while eating a delicious salad. Today I went over at 8:30 and climbed into the deep end of the pool with my dad and a bunch of ladies for water aerobics. Then I worked out in the gym. It was about eleven by the time I got home, rinsed out my suit. It was noon before I'd had a small lunch. And I still haven't showered.

I am very lucky. I retired and my days are pretty much what I dreamed they would be. Except I haven't carved out time for my novel or the technical project I have in mind. My technical skills are so lame and rusty that the patent granted this week with my name on it confuses me about as much as technical stuff I had nothing to do with. But so it goes. I get to spend half of many days exercising or playing games or eating out. Or drinking coffee. And not writing and not inventing and certainly not working for the man.

And, yes, of course, I spend a bit of time managing my money. Which requires more management now that I must make it make a living for me. But life is good. It really is. Even if I don't seem to accomplish great things. A lucky, caffeinated interlude should be appreciated all on its own.

Winnowing the Stuff

Part of our on again/off again downsizing is that we are sorting through the books. I'm tentatively identifying books that get to stay, not just avoid the thrift store box now, but maybe go to the ultimate condo location. I make sure these books are in my Access database and I've also started cataloging them on Library Thing, a site I found that is very helpful in finding the book info and also finding interesting things about books and people who own them.

Some of these books are now on a shelf in my office, nestled next to a cheap globe someone gave me as a gift a few years ago. Hence today's picture. The cheap globe is more accurate than a lot of the ones in my collection of old globes. But it is pre-1989, I guess, since it shows East and West Germany. I'm thinking, by the way, that maybe the globe collection can go to the new, small digs. Some decorative things have to survive. I'm less sure what to do with the four pocket world atlases I found. One is leatherbound and embossed with my name. Pretty up-to-date, too. One Germany. However, not perfect. It's pre-1997 and shows Zaire. Another has the same flaw but some compelling colorful maps. One is so old that it still has Rhodesia and Burma and has The Congo (sometimes wrong things become right again). It shows its age in other ways, too. A cover price of $1.50 and a copyright in Roman Numerals. (MCMLXX). The fourth mini-atlas was revised in '93 and has very readable maps and a nice binding. All four appeal in certain ways. And let's not even begin to discuss the giant 1970's atlas and the collection of maps and guidebooks. But we are making progress. A steady progression of paperback novels and other books are actually leaving the house. I feel for the first time that I'm getting rid of more things on average than I'm acquiring. Really. Honest. Books have been ebbing and flowing about the house in odd ways as himself and I queue some for discarding, move them from the other's pile to the discard boxes and, occasionally, rescue one for further consideration. A pile of literary magazines has taken over a chair in my office for possible donation to Badgerdog Literary Publishing. Of course, these old copies of Story and Paris Review are calling out to me. They are saying "Don't you want to read me before discarding??" I'm not answering, though.

Acquiring stuff is a strange process and discarding it is fraught with all kinds of emotion.

Chilly

It's not cold out. A little chilly maybe. I tossed on a sweatshirt this morning. I didn't wear it to play tennis but put it on again to go home and to go out for burgers. I had on shorts, of course. I got an old black stretched-out cashmere and silk sweater out to wear tonight. It's not realy cold, though.

The picture was taken on South Congress the other night.

Halloween was a bust around here. Some grandparents brought some little kids by and a guy from up the street brought a cute little duck, but otherwise we had these kids who were really too old and not even trying with the costumes. They almost all had pillowcases they were trying to fill with candy.

Meanwhile, the contractors tried to finish off the concrete they'd poured in the dark, illuminated by truck and Bobcat headlights. They tried to keep people off of it and seem to have succeeded. But it was eight-thirty or nine before they'd put up their temporary fence around the wet stuff. We could just see ghoul footprints. But no.

Today, I really had an amazing retiree's day. I hung around the gym at the club and read and drank coffee and worked out a bit. Then I played tennis. I got trounced but it was fun. FFP and I went to Billy's on Burnet for burgers. (Only we had vegetarian sandwiches.) I spent the afternoon catching up month-end finances, taking a leisurely shower, reading yesterday's newspapers and watching 24 Hours on Craigslist off the DVR.

Tonight I have a board meeting at my club. It will be tedious, but I'll have a beer and eat off the Mexican buffet, so how bad is that?

Scary

The city-hired construction workers digging...now that's scary. The mess may keep the Trick or Treaters away, too. We have mini-Tootsie roll pops. That was FFP's choice of fare for the ghouls. Actually Cap Metro is supposedly paying for this project (building sidewalks on Shoal Creek), but the City is doing the supervision. We are looking forward to the sidewalk but it always gives us pause when the city goes after our yard. It was sad to see all that good dirt and grass and irrigation pipe get dumped into a truck. I was too lazy to dig up sod and salvage it. We paid our irrigation guy to cut and cap the system back (hopefully) out of the way of the digging. The city claims they will fix the irrigation system, but we didn't believe they'd do a good job because of our experience when the water main made a mess of the yard.

But it's Halloween. I'm no longer into costumes and celebrations. We will open our door to any kids that get through the mess. But we won't decorate. Until a decade or so ago, Halloween wasn't big in the UK. The New York Times reports that it is quite a business now. Commercial interests encourage it, of course. In 1991 I was in London and went to Hamley's Toy Store. There was a display of Halloween stuff there...an about four-by-four table with a few plastic pumpkins and such. The display seemed to be a nod to having every kind of exotic plaything from all over the world. (Including made in China for the U.S. plastic Halloween paraphernalia.) There was a little wind-up chattering skull. A little girl picked it up, looked at her mother and said, "Look, Mum, Hamlet!" Cultural differences? I guess. Today, I'm betting there is a huge display of Halloween toys and costumes in Hamley's. And the kids know all about it. I checked on the Internet to see if Hamley's still existed. Seems so.

Soon one will be able to peramulate on Shoal Creek and, taking the new sidewalk down 45th, cross the creek and make a nice walk without risking life and limb to cars and bicycles. Cool. It will make going to Fonda San Miguel on foot less scary. It will make Trick or Treaters a lot safer eventually. And since our targeted condo project downtown has started to disappoint us, maybe we will be walking those sidewalks for a long time.

eXtreme dog walking and urban adventuring

I used to do a lot of eXtreme dog walking and urban adventuring. These are sports my friend SuRu and I invented. eXtreme dw involves two people, two dogs, those long (fifteen feet or so) reel leashes and the occasional cat or squirrel. Urban adventuring is the same setup with another person added to garner 'take ones' from houses for sale and hold things while pictures are taken.

Weather (too much heat and some serious rain) and circumstances have reduced the sport to the point that you'd be more likely to catch curling on TV. But yesterday was cool and sunny and the entire team set off when SuRu and Zoey, the black standard poodle, arrived from her new rental across the creek. This makes the third abode in our neighborhood that she's occupied. When she was on Woodview, we'd walk over to her place before the trek; when she lived on Ramsey we'd meet in the middle (somewhere near the now somewhat bland scary house); now it makes sense for her to walk here because in her direction the coffee shop choice is Russell's. And Russell's requires climbing the 'big hill' across Mopac and Russell's has no outside seating for dog owners.

Oh, did I mention coffee and snacks? Definitely a part of the eX dw and ua culture. We chose Upper Crust today. Outside tables? Check. Good snacks? Yes, a Petit Pan au Chocolat bigger than your head (well, maybe a little dog's head). Don't ever eat a cinnamon roll there, however. Gut bombs. Same cinnamon rolls show up at coffee shops around town that aren't also bakeries. Danger. Danger. Eat cinnamon rolls at Sweetish Hill. (Yes, sometimes the eX dw team drives to other neighborhoods and thus has other coffee shop choices.) However, almost everything else at UC is great. SuRu had a not too sweet cookie and FFP a scone. I filled my coffee mug before we left home and again at Upper Crust. Coffee is eX dw fuel.

So it isn't much of a walk from the house to Upper Crust. We went to Ramsey Park after and even south of there. We came back up Ramsey to see if the rental where SuRu lived was rented. No. Good enough for them. It's overpriced.

Along the way, on 40th St. I think, we saw a bush we couldn't identify with bees and butterflies all over it. It was fragrant. Because we had the extra hands for holding a squirmy dog, I took a picture. That is an advantage of urban adventuring, adding that extra person. True the two dogs and two people connected by the long reels of leash make most of the possible 'moves' of eX dw a reality. But there are extra points for capturing pictures like this.

I'm glad the weather has cooperated with my sports. Tennis is nice on a cool, sunny day, too. And I've been getting out there for a bit of that. Tennis is a bit more well-known, too. But I expect eX dw and ua to come into their own. Right now we are the premier team, however.

Hot Stuff

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

Let Others Blog!

I'm not taking pictures . I randomly selected a picture of a stranger taken in Berlin a few years back to illustrate this entry. The woman looks lost. I feel lost, too.

The downsizing is going slowly. It is fraught with emotions.

We are cooling on the condo project we were considering for a couple of reasons.

I injured my left foot slightly in a bizarre accident. I can walk and even (I hope) play tennis, but it hurts if I roll it over to the outside.

Life is full of reminders that things don't always work out. People I know are struggling with illnesses, big and small.

I'll get better emotionally. Or worse. These things aren't static. Some days the things that make you think "life is full and wonderful" when your brain chemistry is different make you think "life is a mess and fraught with confusion and chaos and pain leading to the inevitable."

But for now, I'm letting others blog. Except for this entry. Consider it a response to a ping...yes, I'm still here.

There's More Where That Came From

In the great downsizing of 2006, I keep telling myself that it's OK to let go. There is more stuff where this stuff came from. Maybe even better stuff.

Our spare room has been a staging area for the current wave of downsizing. It's been employed for stuff sorting for more time than it's been used for guests for sure. We have a table divided in half. I put books on one side that I am willing to get rid of. FFP puts books he feels similarly about on the other side. We come by and consign books from the other person's half to a box on the floor and from there they are sacked up for disposal. I think he has, of late, become lazy about filling his side. Instead he's just approved ones I'd identified. Oh, I think he returned a few to the groaning shelves. But many are now in sacks and boxes ready for the thrift store nearby, Top Drawer. He's already taken quite a few before, too.

The picture was taken a couple of years ago in the spare room during my cleaning out of other areas and of my mother's things. Four years after her death we are still disposing of her things. She had a lot of stuff from her hobbies and collecting. If she hadn't been poor for many years, I guess she'd have had more. I'm hoping not to leave a legacy of stuff. But it's hard. "A little bit every day," says himself. That's it.

Wandering through the books has been fun, though. It's like digging through a secondhand bookstore that is a treasure trove of books we would like. A goodly pile has accumulated in my office to become part of the 'Magnificent 1000.' Yes, we plan to own at least 1000 books when we die. So there. Where we will put them in a small condo is another matter. And whether we will ever read (or read again) any significant part of them is questionable. Consider them decoration, I guess. I love to see books in a home. Homes without them seem sad and naked.

I Don't Read Enough

I have probably read seventy books since I retired. But it's been four years. I don't feel like I read enough.

Going through our books in order to downsize from about 3000 tomes to 1000 or less has made me realize that there are scores of books I want to read or reread that I already own. There are quite a few I would never care to read or have read and wouldn't revisit. These would only be useful in some situation (unimaginable in any home of mine) where there was a shortage of words.

Yeah, I just don't feel like I read enough.

I struggle to get through some of the three dailies and two weekly newpapers we receive. My piles of aging papers are legendary. I walked into my club the other day empty-handed and someone ask why I wasn't carrying a pile of New York Times. Yesterday I had a pile of sections of old copies of The Wall Street Journal, The Times and the local rag, The Austin-American Statesman at the gym. I had only managed to get through part of a front page section of The Times on the bike and I put the unruly pile down next to a leg extension machine and tried to do some leg extensions. I have a sort of strained knee and the exercise hurt so I moved about four feet away to do some pulldowns for the triceps. A man I didn't know walked up to my pile of newspapers. In spite of me staring at him as he spent several minutes staring down at them and then got on one knee and riffled through them, he never turned around and ask if they belonged to me. He seemed intent, almost prayerful, over the papers so I moved over to a bench and got a barbell and did some skull crushers. (Also for the triceps.) I figured he'd go on his way and I wouldn' t have to claim ownership of the mass of old papers. Amid my reps on the bench, I saw him head to the locker room...clutching two or three sections of papers he'd apparently carefully chosen. I finished my set. I gathered up the remainder of the pile and was headed out the door when I saw my fellow reader return to the workout room sans newspapers. Not that I wanted them back! But those are some sections of newsprint unread by me.

I admit that everything I don't manage to read, or at least glance through taunts me. The weekly arrival of The New Yorker, while welcome with its clever cover and promise of wonderful articles inside, mocks me because I may not, most likely will not, get it read. I'm now in possession of DVDs of all issues of The New Yorker through last February. Yes, all issues since 1925. This comforts me and allows me to finally throw out some issues that have escaped recycling for over a decade but still there is little comfort in knowing that I have access to the material.

This feeling of despair at what's left unread is not satisfied by reading things online either. I'll sometimes read an entire article from The New York Times WEB page and my subscription to the paper gives me a 'free' Times Select membership and access to lots of back issue stories, but this doesn't make my failure to absorb the papers any easier to bear.

As I've sorted out books to give away, I've tried to tell myself that if I decide one day to read the book I'm tossing that I can always get a copy from Powell's or the library. And maybe I'll obtain a better copy to read than some of the grimy, yellowing paperbacks that I'm putting into the thrift store sacks. At some point I have to seriously examine why I need to own all these books.

I took two sacks of Bridge books to a friend who plays a lot of Bridge and enjoys reading about it. She promised to loan them back to me if I got interested in Bridge again. And I am sort of interested in Bridge. It's just that I never got interested enough. To play or to read all the books. But it used to be that the first thing I'd do if I got the least bit interested in something would be to buy a book about it. Or maybe more than one book! Maybe piles of books. That's what happened with Bridge.

I'm starting to understand that owning all these books is not improving my track record at getting my reading done. I've got to choose the books I keep with care. This may be my hardest downsizing task and not just because there are 3000 objects to deal with. Each unread tome is an admission of failure.

Daily Photo

I've been reading Paris Daily Photo for a while and while this site isn't daily and isn't always Austin so it can't be Austin Daily Photo, I appreciate the idea.

Eric of PDP published this entry and I immediately thought of a picture I had FFP shoot at MOMA in New York City in the summer of 2005. So here it is. I think it's pretty clear who is real and who is not in this one. Maybe.

I had in mind to blog today on two other topics. I fully intend to write one entitled "I Don't Read Enough" and another under the rubric "This Aquisitive Life." Instead I've published this (over a year old) photo.

And so it goes.

In the Shadow of the Creatives

I fancy myself a creative person.

In fact, when I took these pictures (over a year ago) I thought I was showing on the one hand the most blighted view of downtown Austin and on the other a bright thing about Austin (the Art Fest held in Republic Square and the surrounding area) against the blighted shell of the abandoned INTEL building.

Who knew that in October, 2006 I would (1) be planning to live about where the Moonlight Tower appears in the blight picture. (The Tower has been relocated to make way for the 360 Condomiums. It was the only unblighted part of the picture.) (2) The ugly Post Office block would be getting a redevelopment plan as a mixed use space; and (3) That on October 6 I would see a fantastic work of dance performed by Blue Lapis Light in and on that blighted shell?

I had lunch yesterday with a smart, energetic, starving artist. Only 22, he is wise beyond his years, creative to the max, introspective and perceptive. He's not really starving either thanks to a friend of mine who is his mom.

Last night I saw the most amazing work of dance and rappeling to music in the most unusal setting of that Intel shell. Almost more amazing than the work was that someone let the performers and us on the site. We drank and talked to Cliff Redd (executive director of the Long Center) and Stephen Moser (fashion editor of The Austin Chronicle and the designer of several of the blue-themed dressed on display) and other folks. Then we saw the performance that blew us away.

I felt overshadowed by the energy and creativity exhibited around me today. I am amazed at Austin's transformation downtown. I feel old against this backdrop of energy.

I came home to listen to our gubanatorial debate. I gleaned from this that Chris Bell would raise money by having businesses 'pay their fair share' whatever that means and that Kinky would do it with gambling and that Strayhorn and Perry wouldn't raise taxes but they would do good things for schools without the money. I also learned that Strayhorn didn't answer a single question directly and didn't know the president of Mexico. Kinky was most creative. Asked if he would continue to smoke cigars if he were governor and a 'role model he said he would and said Sam Houston was an opium addict and, he guessed, not a good role model for kids. (A little Internet search also hinted that he had venereal disease. Not Kinky. Sam Houston.) It was a creative day and the creative candidate won my vote, I think. It is a sad lot. They didn't let the Libertarian participate. Sad. I would have liked to hear what he had say. He is suing Belo Corp, I think, because his exclusion constitutes promoting the other four candidates. Well, maybe. They all came out looking sort of bad to me. Except, you know, Kinky when he was being funny which is almost all the time.

Growing Old

These guys were caught by a street photographer. It's probably sometime in the 30's. On the left is my father-in-law and on the right is his 'baby' brother. The baby brother would become one of the 'Greatest Generation,' cheerfully fighting in Italy, France and Germany with the 36th Infantry Division, called into active service from the Texas National Guard. He would return unharmed and live a long life.

We took my husband's Dad (the smaller 'big' brother here) to his brother's funeral today in Temple. My father-in-law is 95. His baby brother was 91.

As my mother-in-law recounted the births, deaths and marriages of the clan she entered sixty-eight years ago, she said at one point: "And, well, she died. And he died."

Yeah, that's how it always ends.

The trip was exhausting. My in-laws have grown old and a longish ceremony that started late (after we arrived way early) and another ceremony at the cemetery and finding food and bathrooms on the way home was a production. But once my father-in-law and his brother sauntered jauntily down Congress Avenue before the big war, before they married and had kids. Maybe the depression was oppressive but they still found the funds for some good-looking threads. And my husband's uncle smiled just like that from his bed at the nursing home when last I saw him, correctly identifying me as belonging to the right branch of the clan in spite of the fact that he must have a dozen nephews with wives and girlfriends. In fact, at the service they recruited six nephews on the spot for pallbearers and another nephew conducted the service and another gave the eulogy. Several other nephews sat in the crowd.

I have read that about a thousand WWII vets die each day. I lost my own 92-year-old uncle recently. He lived in the same nursing home (for Texas Vets) as my husband's uncle. Outside many rooms there handsome young hopeful faces in military uniforms stare out of frames below the names in the corridor while, inside the rooms, old men (and women) grow older and weaker.

And, well, that's how it ends.

Top Ten Reasons for Moving to Downtown Austin

10. What a cool name for a hot dog wagon! (See picture.)

9. The mussels at Capitol Brasserie.

8. Mercury Design Studio.

7. Walking to Whole Foods Planet. (My name for the downtown Whole Foods because of the signs that say 'Whole Foods/Whole Planet' or something like that.)

6. Walking to Austin Music Hall, the Paramount, the convention center, many restaurants, bars, some museums. Not to mention several coffee shops that don't have 'Bucks' in their name. Like Halcyon. And Little City. And Hideout. And there's Elephant Room with jazz every night and nowadays almost no smoke. Jazz with takeout from Kyoto upstairs and a Guinness on draft. Yum.

5. Walking to Book People. And other shopping besides that cool Mercury place. Home stores, art galleries, Austin Wine Merchant and...

4. The new hip bodega, Royal Blue Grocery, on Third Street in the AMLI.

3. Proximity to City Hall so it's a piece of cake to get in line to speak your mind.

2. Getting on the Hike and Bike trail and walking around Town Lake without driving downtown.

And the top reason for moving to downtown Austin for us?
1. Walking to the new Ballet Austin building at Third and San Antonio. Heck, on a good day and in comfortable shoes we could walk to Long Center or the Opera Building or Palmer Events Center or the Capitol for the Book Festival. But FFP spends a lot of time volunteering on Ballet Austin projects. So being close will be great for him. And if possible, we are going to be really close to their building.

I realize I can walk to lots of stuff from my house. A branch library, three bakeries, restaurants (Billy's Burgers, Blue Star, Jorge's, Fonda San Miguel, Upper Crust, Pacha's, Phoenician, La Victoria, Sampaio, some new sushi place, etc.), thrift stores and, if you are feeling like a long walk...Central Market. And I realize that I often complain that I can't walk to these places because it's too hot or the sidewalks aren't adequate (they are putting sidewalks on Shoal Creek however). But somehow this downtown thing feels right. I guess we'll see. The future is kind of a blur anyway, huh? But imagining life a little different is good.

Airport Trip Seven Complete

About the picture. FFP took it on Second Street in downtown Austin. Maybe now that my '90th Birthday Project' is over I can get out and shoot some pictures.

I delivered my sister to the airport yesterday. She stayed over after my dad's party to visit. She is somewhat disabled (requires a wheelchair to get to the gate although she can walk short distances with her cane) and the only person I could find to help me take her to the airport was...my ninety-year-old dad. I deposited the two of them and her luggage on the curb next to United's curbside where there was no one helping people. "If you have to, just wait here until I park," I said. Then I raced around to short term parking. I couldn't find a place for the van so I used Dad's handicapped tag and got a handicapped place and raced up three flights of stairs to the departure level. [If you were at the airport and saw that, well when Dad and I left I would have had to leave him on the curb again and go for the van if I hadn't been able to park it near the elevator. I never use his tag when I'm just out and about in his van. I don't use the one in my glove box assigned to my father-in-law either unless he's with me. It's illegal. And I wouldn't do it. But I felt I had the right here.]

They had gone inside and there was a wheelchair person arriving. Turns out they were cancelling her direct flight to Denver. Yikes. They were trying to rebook her and finally gave her some paperwork and sent us to Continental. I called my brother-in-law with the info. She was going to have to fly to Houston and then Denver. After more snafus between the airlines she got her luggage checked with Continental. Since she was going to be even later than we'd thought I sprinted down to buy her some candy bars which is what she said would sustain her. . My dad got tired during all this process and had to go sit down. We said our goodbyes to her and the wheelchair attendant took her to the gate.

Dad and I walked out to the curb. I pointed to the elevator bank across the street. "If you can walk that far, the van is right there." He made it. He had told me that he had to get home because he was taking two lady friends to a musical show later. He does pretty well, but he's a little slow and standing a long time or walking a long distance is tough. But he takes care of himself pretty well.

When I retrieved my car from Dad's and went home, the house was empty. FFP was at a board retreat. I couldn't believe it...ten days of visits and the party and all the logistics were over. Time to worry about something new. I checked on my sister's flight. It was delayed. Yikes. What if she missed the flight to Denver? FFP got home and we were watching the football game (UT's, of course, this is Austin) when thunder roared and they suspended the game in a downpour featuring lightning. Fortunately, my sister's plane was already headed to Houston. Maybe her plane out would be delayed and she'd get home just an hour or so late. The rain stopped. I hoped my Dad wasn't out in it. I tracked my sister's progress. Yup, missed the plane. I reached her and my brother-in-law on their cell phones. She did get a later plane. I worried a little but what can you do if someone is in the Houston airport? Or sitting on the tarmac in Houston on a plane delayed by weather? I think she finally landed about midnight.

It's over. All seven trips to the airport. My sister had the roughest airport trip although my niece and her husband were bumped on the way here. At least two other people flew in for the party that I did not have to pick up or take to the airport. Thanks for that. Many drove in and all apparently without incident. Although my Dad's great nephew forgot his dress up clothes. He fit in fine with the Austin vibe in a black T-Shirt and jeans. All the comings and goings, months of invites and RSVPs and changing hotel reservations. Arranging for everything. Trying to keep the hoopla from wearing my dad out while letting him enjoy it.

Now, what should I worry about now?

Well...That's Almost Over!

Living ninety years is well-deserving of a lot of hoopla, celebration, adulation and such. However, that requires a bit of planning and a lot of luck to pull off. Especially to make the ninety-year-old person in question not feel like he's been through the wringer.

Since last Thursday, I've made five round trips to the airport, organized six hotel stays, answered the inevitable last minute calls and e-mails, and overseen a party for 140 people that included music, valet parking, name tags, flowers and some minor decoration, hors d'oeuvres, a bar and a full buffet dinner. I've tried to keep several meet-ups of out-of-town relatives organized while dealing with the fact that two of my AC units in my house decided to fail in different ways. I have two out-of-town guests remaining and two more airport trips to make.

I'm not complaining, but I told Dad that he isn't getting a big party for 95. Maybe for his 100th. So...he has set his sights on living to be 100. Well, there are worse goals.

I Haven't Been Writing

And, honestly, I miss it when I haven't been doing it. Even my 'personal' journal entries have been terse. I am currently in that familiar mode whereby everything is being delayed until something else happens. OK, it does take focus to have a party for 150 people and have a couple of dozen people coming in from out of town. And in the midst of that, I had to shop for a car with my almost-90-year-old father. That'll stop you in your tracks. And then there is the crick in my neck. Yesterday I woke up with a sharp pain in my neck. Tried warming it up (with exercise and heat applied). Tried wine. Tried Advil. Got it rubbed. Got my feet rubbed. Tried cookies. Woke up better off this morning.

Life deals things out. Little things. Big things. Little things that will become big things. Seemingly big things that will be forgotten.

But I did have a good vacation. And enjoyed a visit to this cute little bookstore in Tilamook, OR.

Another excuse I've had is tennis. The U.S. Open has provided way too much TV time. At least I don't care about football.

In Case You Haven't Been Flying

The way things keep changing in the nation's airports, it seems that even experienced flyers quiz their friends about flying if they haven't been 'out there' lately.

We made a trip to Portland, OR (PDX) recently from Austin (AUS). We went through Dallas (DFW) on American (AA).

This was our first flight since liquids became evil. It's funny how it works, but they had me thinking of my hair gel and shampoo as sinister. When I fly, I have to take decongestants to keep my ears clear. On the way, we had a short layover in Dallas. I'd had a bottle of water after security in the Austin airport. I was going to have to take a second pill on the long (almost four hours) DFW-PDX leg. But I couldn't carry water on board. We had a short layover. In the departure longue they announced that there would be a $4 snack for sale but there would probably not be enough for everyone. We were welcome to take food on board. We rushed off and got a sandwich and coffee. I managed to swill about half the coffee before I had to discard it. DFW had clever poetic signs. "Avoid Delay; Throw it Away." I had to swallow my pill dry before the service cart reached our row.

I was wondering how a friend of mine would get along, given he'd admitted a chapstick addiction.

The whole flying experience out there went remarkably well, though, in spite of full flights. It was almost as if all that was needed to smooth things out was to ban big gulps and Starbucks.

When we flew back, I noticed a couple of interesting things at PDX. One, they were now allowing lipstick and chapstick. My addicted friend can relax. And...they had an interesting way of talking about stuff you buy after security. They said that 'drinks purchased inside the sterile zone must be discarded before boarding.' I wouldn't take that 'sterile zone' thing too seriously when considered the soap and automatic faucets in the restrooms. Yeah, I'd keep washing.

Coming home went quite smoothly, too. We got upgraded to first class for the PDX-DFW leg. And we had a long layover at DFW which allowed my volcanically hot Starbucks to cool so I could finish it before boarding. I hadn't been in first for a little while. You still get glasses that are glass. (I would worry about them being cracked to make a weapon but they are that indestructible thick glass.) You still get linen napkins but they have shrunk over the years. Of course, they only have to be wrapped around plastic dinnerware now. They still have a buttonhole in them so if you have on a proper shirt you can button them on and protect yourself from marinara sauce. Not that I had any marinara. A croissant sandwich it was.

I appreciate the Austin airport and its cultivation of local businesses. No being subjected to Starbucks there. And I appreciate PDX for having a Powell's (City of Books) outlet. By far the best little bookstore I've ever seen in an airport.

Yeah, things are always changing in the air. When is the last time you thought of a leggy attendant with a beehive as your mother?

Not Good at Posting

I've been really remiss at posting. I've been doing something else. What? Hard to say. Going through piles of books. Looking through pictures and slides. Other cleaning and straigtening tasks that are beginning to feel a lot like moving stuff around, like motion. Reviewing films for Austin Film Festival. Tennis. Water aerobics class with my dad. Then yesterday I had to take my dad to the hospital to visit a twenty-something friend who had a brain aneurysm rupture. Well, not to visit the kid, because he was in surgery and having procedures but to visit with the kid's parents. The dad is the son of a nurse friend of my dad's who is dead now and he has kept up with the family.

My dad has always been a compassionate sort. He called the hospital today and tracked his friends down to see how the son was doing. And he hates telephoning. I'm still finding pictures of him. This one was taken in 1945 or 1946 and I'm guessing he is comforting my sister because he has to go back to some army duty. My dad was lucky to be rejected for service until late in the war when, although he wasn't fit for duty, I think they decided to induct him and make him fit for duty. The war ended before that trajectory could get him in harm's way.

So, yeah, I'm busy in my own usual erratic way. So I'd better get on with it. I'm going on something called a 'gallery crawl' this afternoon. I'm going to hear some music tonight later on. I've already hit the tennis courts and done a few minutes on my favorite aerobic machine (the recumbent bike). I've eaten leftovers, showered leisurely. Life is good. I should appreciate it.

I Should be Working on it NOW

Yeah, this cleaning up thing is taking a life of its own. The pile of books shown here represents about half of the ones I'm going to give away. Most are probably useless because they are so obsolete. Some are good, standard references. If I ever need to know any of this again, I'll find the info somehow.

Every time we drive into the garage now, FFP says how its (relatively) cleaned out look gives him pleasure. We plan to spiff it up with paint and sheetrock and some attractive cabinets or shelves. We think a big functional garage is a selling point for a house. But only if it's pretty uncluttered.

Behind our garage is a 'storage room.' We perched FFP's office above this area when we remodeled. We have a laundry room there and shelves, storage cabinets, old file cabinets, a closet under the stairs, a closet we call our 'wine cellar.' FFP is set up there to paint with a drop cloth, easel, etc. although the first and last paintings he completed were done on the floor of the garage when we remodeled the bedroom. There is also an enormous 'rack' of wood and pipe that held oversized file folders for negatives and PMTs and pasted-up art. Back in the day when such were necessary to produce ads. Now we don't produce ads, mostly, and if we do they are just pixels until they are realized in print. We actually offered the filing cabinets on Freecycle and had a pickup set but the people never showed up. FFP and I are discussing what we might use to 'furnish' a storage unit. Should we actually save the enormous beat-up filing cabinets? I think storage units are so expensive that we might reconsider even having one. But I find it hard to see how to do without it. We are definitely going to have the handyman dismantle the giant rack. We've disposed of most of the ancient adverstising stuff.

While I write this, I should be looking through a pile of magazines I just uncovered in my office. I'm feeling better about discarding copies of The New Yorker since they have announced the upgrade of the complete DVD set. I think this is the way of the future, mine anyway. Where you discard the magazines and have the archive available. Ideally it would be on the WEB, but this is certainly more compact. I no longer really want to own movies either. And I'm going through old cassette tapes. One criteria for discarding them is 'do we have the CD?' Another is 'are the tunes available on Rhapsody?' If we could listen on our computers or download the tunes if we wanted them, that would be great. We aren't even talking about the CD collection yet. I'm thinking that when we go to the condo we might have the collection ripped to a hard drive.

What was that tag line for VW back in the sixties? Think small! Yeah, that's it.

Moving in the Right Direction, Stuff-Wise

I was thinking today how we acquire stuff and discard stuff. Year in and year out. For the last couple of weeks we've been burning faster than we were filling, you might say. And that's a good thing. It's horrifying to think how many possessions we still have, especially considering how much we have disposed of over the years.

When I moved to Austin, in 1975, I couldn't fill a small one bedroom apartment with the stuff I owned. Sad. I wanted stuff. I even bought some furniture for that place. When I combined my stuff with FFP's in 1976, it was a little crowded in his house which was probably 800 square feet. When we moved a block away in 1977 (twenty-nine years ago this month), we had a larger house. We filled it with a business we were running and all the stuff it needed and things we were eager to own.We bought a building and moved the business there. We remodeled a few times and redecorated, stuff coming and going. Always thinking it was the ultimate stuff. One remodel made room for the business (smaller now) to move back. With the complications that engendered.

It makes me feel better to pare the stuff down. But it's going so slowly. The garage is looking pretty good now. But my office and the spare room are still a sea of things being sorted and dealt with. There are closets and shelves begging for a good cleaning. There are large pieces of furniture that will ultimately need to go. I get depressed about it sometimes, but at least the needle is moving in the right direction at the moment.

The Dilettante Collector

I read something the other day about a guy who collected comic books very assiduously for many years. They were stored in very optimum conditions for a long time, too. His family is now ready to sell them for millions although they have found out that some are missing. And because he obsessively made some small cryptic pencil marks on each and every one, his heirs were able to trace them and it was probably some contractors who were 'alone with the collection' who pilfered them. I can't find this story online just now or I would link to it. So what does that have to do me anyway?

Well, that's not the kind of collector I am. I don't stick to collecting anything with that kind of single-minded diligence. Unfortunately I am tempted to save things because they might be (pick one) useful / valuable / interesting later. And I might start collecting something...say cocktail shakers, globes, bendable posable figures, etc. and amass quite a few of them without a clue about what I should be saving or discarding, how to store them, etc. I feel like a lot of times I discard something just before it becomes valuable.

I have decided to seriously get rid of stuff. We've been cleaning out the garage. We've tossed a lot of stuff, given away a lot of stuff. We are trying not to worry if it will ever be valuable, useful, sentimental. A 10x10 climate-controlled storage unit in downtown Austin goes for $377 per month. We want to move downtown one day. I must get rid of stuff. I have too much stuff. If some of it is useful, I can never find it when I need it.

I will admit, however, that it is interesting to find a box in the garage containing my tax returns from before I married and the Christmas cards I got over a decade ago. As I looked through the latter, I choked up at notes written by people who have died. I wondered at a photo of someone that I simply don't recognize. Well, OK, she is vaguely familar. But I can't save all this stuff. It's going to be hard enough to decide what to do with boxes and boxes of bendable, posable figures. Every time I go through the stuff, less and less survives. Oh, I'm going to save some things all right. But I don't think I have to worry about any contractors stealing a million dollars worth of collectibles. And that's a good thing.

I don't think dabblers end up with million-dollar collections. I once wrote a poem about me and my attention span for organizing and doing. You can see it here but I'll also reprint it here in blogger-land where I seem to spend most of my time writing to you.

Dabbler, Babbler, Dilettante
Flitting about
Cannot stop.
Focus Free
Excuse me,
I must hop!

I've Been Busy Since Last We Spoke

It started with that cheap Mexican breakfast I mentioned. My companions and I shared the guacamole pictured here next to some good hot sauce with our migas. We were at Aranda's on Burnet Road.

I got invitations out to my dad's birthday party in September and have even received quite a few RSVPs.

We have been working on the clean up project alluded to here. We hope to move out of our house and into a (smaller) condo in about two years. And we are thinking it may take two years to get things tidied up and sorted. I stood in the garage today with sweat pouring off my face, chopping up cardboard boxes for recyling, filling garbage sacks with things to throw away when there is space in the 'pay as you throw' bin. You can only discard about twelve cubic feet of stuff in our bin per week and if you want to leave garbage bags on the curb as well you have to attach a two dollar sticker. We did leave a few things on the curb with a free sign, gave some things to the handyman and the yard man. FFP made a trip to the thrift store and I have another pile of stuff in my car now to go there. Slowly, we unwind our acquisitions and see most of them for what they are: anchors. There are a few shocks. Like when I found my tax returns from before I married FFP. Yeah, I am thinking shredder.

I think we may be, for this small period, getting rid of stuff faster than we acquire it. Now if we can just keep it up for the next few years.

Are You a Blogger or Not?

When you let yourself off that leash of writing every day, then there are questions. How often should you show up? And what to write about? You have to read your own last entry to see what you were talking about. You can't just talk about today or yesterday and be confident that you have brought your readers up-to-date.

We've been having an 'arts weekend' so far. We went to a gala on Friday benefiting Austin Cabaret Theater and saw Eartha Kitt perform. Before that a jazz group from San Francisco and a Tony Bennett tribute singer entertained a bit. Afterwards, Eartha was surrounded by people getting autographs and pictures so I took a picture of Holly of the Downtown Planet and the piano and sax player from the jazz group. Holly recently scooped all the local media on a possible embezzlement scandal at the Downtown Austin Neighborhood Association. And she's a bright and pretty girl. Unfortunately, I don't remember the muscians' names. See, I'm no journalist.

Even though I don't have a picture to show you, I will say that Eartha was amazing. Soft and melodic to screeching in several languages. She sang an African song that would stand up well to Mariam Makeba and she sang a "La Vie en Rose" (after setting the stage by talking about seeing the little sparrow in Paris back in the day) that, if you closed your eyes, you would have thought Edith Piaf was up there. She was sensual, showing us legs and movements someone her age really shouldn't have.

Last night we saw a play at Zach Scott called "I Am My Own Wife." A one person play about a transvestite who survived WWII and communist rule in East Berlin, the story is fascinating even if the facts are in some dispute. I found it a little slow, though. It would have made a better book where pages of exposition could evoke Berlin during all this time. I like Berlin and am intrigued by its history. There is an autobiography I find. This play did win a Tony for best play, though, so my opinion doesn't count, I guess.

We had a couple of guests last night. FFP wanted to go to Jeffrey's after and no one objected. We had some half price appetizers on their late Saturday night happy hour and some expensive drinks (a delicious glass of Bogle Pinot Noir for me) and enjoyed our company.

No arts events planned for today. But this morning it looks like we will go for a cheap Mexican breakfast. Always a good thing to do on Sunday morning in Austin. You know, if you aren't a church goer.

It's the Not Knowing

Yeah. It's the not knowing that drags us along. We can predict certain things, assign them a probability, but we don't know until it all plays out.

My dad's brother died. He didn't recover after we visited him in the hospital. The picture on the right is my dad's family with his parents and all his siblings save the one as yet unborn. Dad is the small, hopeful-looking boy, dwarfed by his brother and older sister and even a bit shorter than his younger sister on his right.

Dad and I were talking about all the unknowns and how it is good not knowing as we drove Monday to the funeral in a little town northwest of Dallas.

Dad has had his eyelid lift since I last posted here. Technically called a blepharoplasty according to the surgeon, what was done was the removal of excess tissue from the eyelid. This excess flesh was pushing his eyelashes against his eyes and generally making his eyes uncomfortable and interfering with his vision. It went rather well. His face was (and still is) bruised but he never had swelling and the incisions have healed nicely. He said he kept thinking he wasn't going to last long enough to make this surgery worthwhile but, after finding it uncomfortable for two years, he just decided to get it fixed. I don't like the idea of cutting and I hate the nurse maid role, but I went along with it. And it has turned out well. Soon the only evidence will be his rather more wide open eyes. The bruising around his eyes has faded leaving bruising around his cheekbones that puts everyone in mind of Kiss makeup. And I guess he'll get Medicare's money's worth and last a while with his better vision and comfort.

We spend a lot of our time planning for the future, doing uncomfortable things for comfort later. We are never sure how it will pan out. We know we will die but not when and the journey until that time can take a lot of turns. August 1 approaches. August 1, 1966 saw a sniper (Charles Whitman) on the UT Tower ending a lot of lives and turning others in directions that hadn't been dreamed of. FFP was on campus that day. He escaped harm. But it would be wrong to say he wasn't changed.

Blogging isn't Progress!

Or is it? It's instructive to look at pictures taken before you were born, isn't it? My sister looks happy, doesn't she? Just kidding. She was always good to me. And she liked having me around, I think.

I have to get that invitation done for my dad's party.

Instead of working on that or working to get the place tidy and organized I spent yesterday in dalliance. (I bet that word isn't used too many times on the WEB today.) Yeah, we went downtown for brunch and walked around, saying 'hi' to other people brunching who we knew. I dozed over a couple of disks from Netflix. (This Indian movie, 'Fire,' was very good.) I'd been neglecting Netflix for reviewing movies for the festival. I also watched the very long 1987 movie 'Cry Freedom' which I'd never seen. I read the entire Sunday newspaper and finished Saturday's, too. Which doesn't mean that there aren't still piles of unread newspapers in these parts.

It was a nice way to spend a day. But not very productive. As the week unfolds, I have appointments and duties. I should have done more yesterday.

My First Year

The original of this photo is on a newly exposed clean part of my desk, stacked among others representing milestones in my dad's life. I have a HUGE desk, by the way, but there is rarely a clean space to work and look at things like this. The desk wraps around me and goes about six feet in two directions. It is 36 inches deep but of course that means some space is wasted in the corner. There are surge protectors, a stack of storage cubes with a TV and cable box on top, a computer, phones, scanner, ink jet, reference books, external hard drive, a cable modem, router, hub and chargers for various batteries. I try to relive the clutter every now and then. There are two keyboard drops and two stacks of drawers. Anyway, there is a little work space at the moment but something will suck something into that area any moment. But I have scanned the little heap of photos into the computer. That is some tiny progress.

This photo was taken during the first year of my life. I don't know what I'm doing. Stretching? Reaching for Momma? She must be taking the picture. Dad seems comfortable holding me but my sister, clutching her doll, seems a little disappointed in the living doll she has received. For the record, that's the shadow of my dad's work shirt collar, not an early evidence of the spiky hair I exhibit occasionally now.

So I am cleaning up. I need to go buy some more archival photo storage sheets and get these back photos filed away. What's that I hear you saying? That things are getting messier faster than I try to clean them up. Ah, well, yes.

My Dad in Pictures

I haven't found any of him as a young kid, but I've captured him in 1941 with Mom. He's about twenty-five.

I have actually been working on the organization and such. I've scanned some pictures for the 'story' of my dad's ninety years. I'd actually scanned this one before and used it on a 'save the date' card I distributed earlier in the year when I reserved a time for his party.

I actually did a couple of other things to get organized, too. I like to keep the disks and instructions for software and gadgets in their original boxes. But they take up so much space that I decided to just fold the outer boxes for some of my stuff into a folder and put the stuff inside. I came across, also in the same closet, my parents' first photo album. It was falling to pieces so I had earlier taken it apart and put each fragile page in an inert plastic sleeve to preserve it.

All that youth and hope. It amazes me to see my parents quite a bit younger than I am. In this picture they are less than half my age! My mother is probably nineteen.

The only question is: will I get organized before I'm ninety years old?

Watch Me Clean Up!

I have this obsession with getting things tidy. I long for clean neat rooms, open space on the desk, neat drawers and closets where you can find everything.

But in the digital age there is more to getting things organized than all the physical stuff. There are all the docs and photos on your computer. Copies and variations and obsolete and useless stuff. With good things scattered about, too.

Then there is that intersection of the physical and the digital. Like the document on my computer that purports to list the contents of my fire safe. And finding a physical photo and thinking "maybe I should scan this into my computer." Where, of course, the picture becomes more clutter.

But I *AM* trying to tidy up. At the same time I'm trying to give some stuff away and get an invitation together for my dad's 90th birthday in a couple of months. But it's hard to get started on it. I'd rather blog. So I thought I'd let you guys follow along.

I started looking through digital files. To tidy them up and to look for pictures of Dad for use in the birthday invitation and maybe to make a slide show for his party. This picture is of the Sony Center canopy in Berlin. It has nothing to do with Dad. I just stumbled on it. It was taken in 2002, I think, on my last trip to Berlin.

Bien moins jaloux de leur survivre

So yesterday was Bastille Day. I was driving home from the club and the local public radio station was playing a rousing version of La Marseillaise with a huge choir and an orchestra. It was long and I wondered if there were really that many choruses. I thought "I bet you can find the words on the WEB."

So this morning, when I was trying to sleep in but FFP and the dog kept waking me up for this and that, I got up, brewed a cuppa in the Capresso and found that about.com had the words. In French and in English. So I settled in for a pleasurable few minutes with my computer and my giant Harrap's French/English dictionary. I realized that I just don't know that much French. That, coupled with my difficulty understanding sung words in any language, has meant that for years I couldn't get past 'Allons enfants.' Which means "Let's go children." Those are the first words.

Before the last refrain there is a strange chorus that is a bit ghoulish. It is all about avenging or dying and it expresses an eagerness to join one's ancestors in death. "Bien moins jaloux de leur survivre." Much less eager to survive them. " Que de partager leur cercueil" Than to share their coffin. Hmm. What an interesting song. And even though I had the translation there I looked up a couple of words in the dictionary. And I remembered using my pocket translator to translate this word in 1989: cerceuil. I was in the hills of Provence near Mougins village in a country inn. I'd gone on a trip with some girlfriends. I'd gone to the village and gotten some papers. An earthquake had devastated the San Francisco area. The paper talked about the double decker freeway collapse in terms of "cerceuils de béton." Coffins of concrete.

Illness and death are on my mind. Who knew the French National Anthem was just going to reinforce it?

I tried to find a picture from Paris that I hadn't shown you. Well, this one was taken in the Musée d'Orsay. They have a giant cutaway of the old Paris opera house and this is a detail of it. I suppose it would have been more appropriate for a rumination about "The Phantom of the Opera." But, oh well.

I made another decision this morning. When we downsize and severely curtail the amount of stuff we are carting through life, I'm going to keep my gaint French/English dictionary. But a lot of stuff I'll just count on looking up on the WEB.

Closing In

The world is an enormous place. Sometimes your little part of it feels like it's closing in, however.

This photo was taken out the hotel window (the Fairmont in Dallas) on our little jaunt up there the other day. My hand and camera look enormous with respect to the buildings. All those offices. People inside. (Well, usually. I think a lot of them might have been empty when I took this.) All those people, everywhere.

FFP and I've been discussing downsizing a lot. The very admission that we need to reverse the acquisitive trend and reduce our stuff and move into a smaller place with less responsibility highlights the general helplessness we all feel as our time winds down.

Yesterday I took my Dad to see his older brother in the hospital. When we arrived a woman from admissions was arranging a small marker board on his chest and snapping a digital picture. It was a VA hospital but I still found it a little shocking. "Can you open your eyes?" she asked. He didn't though. Not for her. He did for my dad. My dad's brother is ninety-two. It looks like he might recover from this pneumonia and move back into his small room at the nursing home. Maybe.

As we headed downtown last night to celebrate a bit for FFP's milestone birthday (we are celebrating the entire month), I got a call that my friend in South Africa had some upsetting news about her cancer. She's been fighting it nine years. Will it finally win?

The reminders of the finiteness of one's life flit around me. The big old world keeps turning...but we may get off at any time. And, if not, a lot of our mates will.

Times Change

This picture was taken on Cole Avenue in Dallas. When I was living nearby (on Abbott St. in Highland Park) there was an upscale (to me) restaurant in a deconsecrated church. Today it's a burger joint. Here it is reflected in the glass facade of a tall building across the street. That wasn't there when I lived there.

My trip to Sherman and Dallas over last weekend and the holiday sure put me in mind of how much things change over several decades. And yet there are glimpses of what was. And even I don't remember the church being a church.