My Unwritten Books

One reason I've never written any of my books, leaving them all unwritten is that I have a fear of plagiarism. Will I unwittingly think some sentence or phrase or idea is my own and fail to faithfully attribute it?

Of course, My Unwritten Books is a book by George Steiner so the title of this entry is itself a plagiarism. [How many people, do you think, can spell plagiarism without looking it up? Digression. That's another enemy of my book writing.]

I'm itching to buy Mr. Steiner's book from Amazon. So it could join all the other unread books around here.

Mr. Steiner is a polyglot and polymath, according to Wikipedia. That assertion makes me envious and makes me feel small as the speaker of 1.1 languages (I speak enough French to qualify as a backward toddler) and the master of virtually no field of endeavor.

I was moved to write about what I have not written by a couple of clippings I found in a box of photos that I was sorting. One, from a 2002 New York Times OP-ED page was by Joseph Epstein. Entitled "Think you have a book in you? Think Again" he argues to not, as he puts it "add to the schlock pile." (It should be noted that Mr. Epstein has himself contributed several books to the publishing stream. I have actually read one of them and I think it is somewhere in this condo.)

The other article, from the Book Review in that same paper from the very next day's issue, was a celebration by Bruce McCall of his brother-in-law, John Jerome, who wrote books that never brought him fame, but who celebrated and loved the writing itself. The non-fiction books, their titles at least, speak of mastery and research and care for details. (I haven't read any of them, but On Turing Sixty-Five sounds tempting since I'm now old enough to realize that I'll reach that age without writing a book!)

But, what have I failed to write?

• A novel (or a screenplay...it is such a nascent work it really doesn't matter) about a woman and the effect when this woman dies in a plane crash leaving behind a husband, elderly parents and in-laws and a trusted assistant, all dependent on her for one thing or another. She is a bit autobiographical but neatly avoids most or maybe all of my own failings. Called 'Hole in the Water' the novel refers to the site of the crash (the ocean) and to the woman's absence from a water aerobics class. The entire book (or screenplay) may or may not be set after the event. Or maybe it's a flashback.
• A novel called Pogonip. The eponymous title character has a surname that is actually an obscure word meaning ice fog. He has run from tragedy into wealth until he can maintain multiple homes around the world and spend lots of money sending friends on elaborate 'games' using the map of the earth as the playing board. He doesn't really engage thoroughly with people in person, but his arm's length approach to life is interrupted when several players go to Berlin instead of Paris in the midst of one of the games he has financed and invented and are the unwitting victims of a terrorist bombing. This piece has been hanging over my head, necessitating a trip to Berlin to see in person something that was constructed since I was last there. It has its roots in intentional encounters with friends in faraway places.
  
• A short story which grew into a novel because, you know, if you don't actually write something it keeps growing. It explores the nature of truth beginning with the chance witnessing of a hit and run accident by someone who is somewhere they are not, technically, supposed to be. A serious crime witnessed by someone committing a misdemeanor. This one didn't have a name, I didn't think. It was originally in a collection of unwritten short stories that included one about a stone wall, I knew that. I thought that they were mostly in my head, titles and ideas included. I've considered combining this one with the one above in a giant novel for the purposes of not writing. At some point, the protagonist and the victim of the hit and run were revealed to me as being natives of Odessa. Odessa, Texas that is. And I needed to take a trip there to lend authenticity to a couple of ideas. [It turns out that I'd actually saved a document containing proposed titles and blurbs about the stories in that original, unwritten collection. When I found it on my computer just now, I only vaguely remembered the other story ideas besides the two mentioned. The title of this one that has grown out of control in my head was to be "Behind the Screen." There was another story in there called "Avalanche" based on something that happened to me as a kid. Another called "No Load-Bearing Walls" was vaguely familiar. Another entitled "The Next Apartment" had this blurb: "On relationships and envy of same." Although one (you or I) can imagine the story, I remember not one thing about its potential structure.]
  
• A screenplay that is technically not mine but a friend's (I was just helping or hindering or encouraging with some tasks like organizing a time line and dialog bits). She doesn't want the plot revealed so enough said about that. I think the material is on a WEB page with a logon and password I've forgotten. As you see above, I'm not so squeamish about telling what I remember of unwritten plots and would say even more about the ones above but you would only laugh. Laugh more than you are already laughing. And I would be making stuff up on the fly that I don't really remember committing to in the ephemeral plot in my imagination.
  
• A self-help book about packing, traveling and divesting oneself of unnecessary things. Seriously, I thought I could help others in this regard. Ha.

There must be others. Can this really be a life's collection of unwritten works!? How sad there can't be more when actually writing them, let alone getting them published, isn't required. However, my restraint, it turns out, is admirable. Joseph Epstein says in the above-mentioned article:

Misjudging one's ability to knock out a book can only be a serious and time-consuming mistake. Save the typing, save the trees, save the high tax on your own vanity. Don't write that book, my advice is, don't even think about it. Keep it inside you, where it belongs.

Good advice, I think. I think I'll let my self-help advice be just that and let my characters continue to grow and mature and change inside my head. It'll save me a trip to Berlin not to mention Odessa.

[Today's photo was taken on W. Sixth using a gift shop there as a lens. One wonders how many shops selling what we call 'gee-gaws' will be shuttered in the current economic crisis.]

Lost and Found

The black mood lifted. I'm not sure when. I kept thinking "I've lost my sense of humor." I was cataloging physical things I'd lost. But I knew they didn't really matter. They weren't irreplaceable.

But that wasn't it. It wasn't physical stuff and it wasn't my sense of humor. I'd lost my sense of wonder. And with it the world's power to entertain me had faded.

When it came back, I suddenly found weeds and trash interesting and was, as usual, intrigued by how different each person is from all the rest of us and yet how many things we share.

So I escaped the black cave once again. By Friday morning I could smile at one of my brokerage pages that couldn't handle the four digit drop in the Dow. I laughed after considering putting some money into a stock and not pulling the trigger to see it up two and a half points on the day, a down day for the Dow with volatility that made ending down 128 seem like a victory.

Today some guys walked by the tennis court where I was playing and in spite of wearing a cap and having his head turned some little mannerism assured me that one of them was a certain acquaintance of mine. Voices drifted over from a Men's Saturday workout and I recognized the head pro and other friends. This gave me pleasure for some reason. As did the hits and misses of the tennis balls.

It's a wonderful world. You never know what's going to happen and that's the beauty of the journey. Everyone is watching the UT/OU game just now. UT will probably succumb to the Number One team, but then, you never know. Yeah, that's the best part.

The Black Dog

I am not feeling colorful and gay. I'm the one in black reflected with the toys from that cool toy store down on SoCo. Did my walk yesterday cheer me up? Not so much. I took a little cheer from my lively companions at a wine dinner at Taste and all the lovely food and drink. I might have enjoyed tennis this morning, but we didn't play. I welcomed the 'time off' but didn't embrace it. Finally I cleaned a little and folded clothes. I guess I need some exercise in order to feel better. I'm thinking of going for a walk followed by the gym. I've let the cool morning pass into a moderate (76 degree) midday. I'm a mess mentally for some reason. I should feel great (well, ignoring the fact that the entire country is in a recession, OK make that a depression). I'm healthy, retired, somewhat secure, my condo is as near 'finished' as it will ever be. So. Get over it.

Progress Delayed

There are things I should be doing. Cleaning house. Getting the files and boxes I moved in here organized. Getting a workout. Maybe going for a walk on this cool morning.

I am supposed to (according to Dad's GP) call a cardiologist for an appointment to get an echo cardiogram of his heart. But Dad said (during my morning call to him when I told him this) that he would 'think about it.' In 2005 he had one after having a TIA. It is a non-invasive test but we both wonder what they will do if they find out he has congestive heart failure. Give him some more drugs? I tell him I'll delay getting the appointment until he talks to his GP about it. He needs to go get a flu shot. He changes the subject. "When are we going to get a haircut?" I suggest next Tuesday after my tennis match.

I need to clean house because we are having people over tomorrow evening on a hallway progressive cocktail party that one of the guys on the hall organized. I need to accomplish things. But it's such a cool morning. I think I'll take that walk.

I took the picture in front of a Bubble Tea place on the Drag.

Touching Base

Really, a blog (or a journal) should be updated in a quotidian way. I sometimes feel like people are looking here for me and I'm missing. I read other people's journals and the ones that update faithfully, well, it's hard to miss what's going on with them even if they don't say it. [I missed that a blogger I regularly read had split with her husband somehow. Hmmm. Well, we've no such news here you'll be glad to know.] And, of course, without a record I lose track of myself, disappearing as in the above (aren't you sick of them?) reflection picture.

So, I woke up this morning having dreamed of bacon the size of bath towels and wondering about the pig. The thing about dreams is you can't make that stuff up! What's more I think I dreamed of giant bacon before. I was thinking it was Thursday, too, instead of Tuesday. I'm mixed up and confused.

Yeah, we've watched stocks plummet the last few days. Worldwide financial news is so bleak it makes our losses look minuscule. We have started looking at stores, restaurants, banks, building projects and businesses and wondering which ones will go feet up first. I feel like I should be like Warren Buffet, cash rich and bargain hunting. But, yeah, not.

I am still cataloging things. I'm still not doing any real projects. A short story I had in my head that evolved into a novel started merging with another novel. I think this is fine as long as they just stay in my head, don't you?

I've been looking all over for a little book I bought in Paris, A to Z of French Food. I'm not sure why I'm looking for it. I just saw it in my catalog of books and wondered where it was. I had a box of books at Dad's labeled Paris/France but it was not in there. I went out there and looked through it today. I did decide to bring a few books and maps from that box to the condo (although they are still in my car) because I'm noodling about planning a trip. Only maybe a trip to somewhere in the U.S. where we can stay with friends is a better idea.

Yeah, my mind is all over the place. I got a call from my dad's doctor, too. He didn't get the chest xray we had done, he did get the ultra sound of his leg (no clots, the technician had already proclaimed) and he got the blood test for peptides. It is high. Maybe. There is normal and then there is 'adjusted for age' normal. But the GP thinks a trip to the cardiologist for an echo cardiogram is in order because high BNP might mean CHF. (Congestive Heart Failure.) Only one wonders how one treats a 92-year-old man for CHF. Or anything else for that matter. Drugs, I suppose?

We went to a party tonight for people who had donated to Hospice Austin. In spite of the financial meltdown, people were cheerful. Compared to death, yeah, not so bad. Some were sneaking out to hear the debates. I'm sorry, what?

Oh, well. I'm here. Nothing new, really. We are not trying to slip anything by you at Visible Woman.

Can't Stop Collecting and Cataloging

In spite of the mad frenzy of divesting ourselves of things, we still have a plethora of media and entertainment options. As I type this FFP has piped standards from XM radio (off the DirecTV feed) into our office. I've been uploading a bunch of our CD collection (mostlly jazz and standards) to a fast Firewire disk in anticipation of possibly hooking it to the system or just having it easily available to search for tunes and play them on the iMac. I have several Netflix films waiting to watch. It's football season and there are a few new TV shows, too. Our social calendar is full of entertainment.

I've been trying to get back into keeping a private journal. Of course, I want to keep up with this blog and my other blogs. I've been cataloging and sorting the books we did keep in all this downsizing. (Besides an Access database I'm trying to catalog them on Library Thing.) What is it with this urge to organize, to catalog, to collect? The picture today is the cover of the book I'm reading which I scanned for Library Thing.

We walked to the university today and I snapped a bunch of pictures along the way. (Hmm...I need to organize pictures. Yeah, so it goes.) We also went to hear jazz and eat at Taste and to hear Hedda Lane at Rain. Input, enjoyment. Catalog, journalize. Repeat.

Ah, well. I think I'll sit down and try to work the Sunday Times magazine crossword.

Under Cover

Sometimes I feel like being undercover, just out of range, involved in the world without the risk of being asked too many questions about how we got here. Lots of people have lots of answers. I don't. But I want to know what's going on and hear a little of what other people have to say even though I always take things with a 'grain of salt.' I guess that's what I like about being online with my blogs on the one hand and peeking into other people's lives through their blogs. Connect, yet don't. Converse, but only sort of. Appeals to my innate shyness. My life is led mostly in an 'overcome shyness' mode. A lot of people don't realize that because I battle hard against it. But I'm really happy when I'm mostly missing from the picture yet there. Maybe that's why I take all these reflection pictures like this one of a fancy Second Street clothing store with a stranger caught peering across the street.

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.

Taking Time to Notice

One really needs to take time to notice one's luck. To remind oneself that even when a day seems filled with things that don't work and make one angry that those things are trivial. One also needs to observe how one's fortune far exceeds that of most everyone else. Most of our friends have faced or are facing much more serious health problems or they are struggling more for money. A lot of people still have to work. (How does anyone find time for that?)

It's also important to take note of what's going on around one's own little nest. Sometimes I think I notice TOO much around here and not enough outside. I've been fretting over some cosmetic things FFP says don't matter much, that he wouldn't notice if I didn't notice.

I took this picture from the Long Center Terrace. I photographed the 360 from over there plenty of times. Our building really wants to be noticed from other there, set apart from the tall buildings on Congress.

Most of all one needs to notice when one is happy, take heed of what one is doing when there is that sought-after peaceful, satisfied feeling. Then repeat those moments. I spent a few hours at my club on Tuesday. I thought I was going to play tennis but there weren't enough folks for doubles and the one other lady didn't want to play singles. I went to the gym and had a long ride on the bike to nowhere finishing up a book I'd wanted to finish reading for a while. Then I had a coffee/yogurt smoothie and a breakfast taco and then I lifted weights and did sit-ups and stuff. Very slow and leisurely. Then I went to the locker room in the pro shop which I had completely to myself for a shower and grooming. I took my laptop to the club house to wait for a meeting and popped it open and read my e-mail. Someone came by and said the meeting would be in the pro shop so I went over there and ordered some food. I met with a sub-committee I'm on and then we walked the construction site. I felt peaceful and unstressed. (In spite of the worries about the construction project.) I realized that I really enjoy exercising, reading, relaxing. Yeah, of course. But sometimes I do forget.

This morning (which started off cool and sunny, almost but not quite fall) I played tennis and while I was playing I so enjoyed it. I even enjoyed the feeling when I got back to the condo and I was moving stuff around and cleaning up the place a little and then taking a shower. I felt I should go visit with my sister, but when I called Dad he said my sister and my brother-in-law were not back from going off somewhere to visit friends. I felt I had a little reprieve from trying to go out and compete with traffic for the ACL festival and the UT game. I like it when people entertain themselves.

Yesterday was a bad day, mostly, although I made myself stop, breathe and appreciate more than once to get through it. I must remember to repeat the things I love, over and over, as long as they give me that pleasurable feeling.

Floating

I don't seem to be connected to anything. Oh, I have my duties, my schedule. Today I was talked into playing tennis. Although playing four times a week is something I do not need to be doing. And I hate to disappoint my regular social friends the other three days. I am a registered sub for this team, though, and one of them had to go help a relative impacted by the hurricane so I relented. Then my dad told me yesterday morning that he had some edema in his legs. We decided he wasn't bad off enough to go to the emergency room, but needed to go to the doctor today. I told him I'd cancel tennis, but he improved some so we are going to try for the doctor this afternoon. We arranged to have dinner with friends we haven't seen in ages this evening. And so it goes.

Yesterday was social mostly. I did have my computer guy come by and install a fast Firewire drive on my Mac in an attempt to keep the VMware image backed up with Time Machine. Otherwise, we did our dog sitting duties for our god dog Zoey and took a walk and ate breakfast at Halcyon. In the afternoon we drove up to UT and saw a concert in the foyer of the Blanton museum and then came home and walked over to Long Center for a fund-raiser called Octo-Tea. A group of folks raise money for a fund (called the Paul Kirby fund) that helps people living with HIV-AIDS by providing emergency assistance for rent, meds, utilities, whatever. The group has raised over a million dollars over some years by having a loose band of people party on their own nickel or donations or both and charge attendees a fee that goes one hundred percent to the fund. This party was a dance party with a DJ on the City Terrace of Long Center and a jazz band in Kodosky lounge. There was food and drink and a silent auction but, mostly, we were there to see people and we saw a ton of people we know and met new ones.

We spent the evening reading (well, FFP watched a football game which miraculously was delivered by our dicey building DirecTV Sat service). I went out with my god dog's mom for the final walk. We were laughing about how she behaves when I take her out (looking longingly over her shoulder at the building where she last saw Mom). She stopped to sniff something. My friend said, "Come on, Zoey, or I'll give you to Auntie Lin." She handed the leash to me and the dog stopped in her tracks and whipped her head around to look at her mom. Hilarious. What separation anxiety. But it means I can't take her for long walks when I'm dog sitting. The further we get from the building the more she resists.

Well, I have to go play tennis and then see about my dad. It is a lovely day for tennis, still cool out there. It's hard to appreciate it, though, with other things on my mind and when I'm actually playing more hard court tennis than is probably good for my aging body. It's a good problem to have, though, as opposed to not having anyone to play with now that I don't have to work.

The other thing that has me at loose ends is a family visit. I'm not sure how long my sister and her husband are planning to stay with my dad or what they want to do while here. We have our schedule to keep, of course.

I'm not even going to mention the uneasy, floating feeling that finishing up the condo gives me. (Wait, I just did.) I know things are ephemeral but it does give me pause to invest all this time and money and then see places next door having sheetrock sledge-hammered out. I'm just saying. It adds to the floating, nothing is permanent feeling.

It's Not the End of the World

Last night we went to Taste Select Wines. When other places are crowded, this spot always seems to have a table or seats at the bar, even if it's buzzing. We'd had some people come by in the late afternoon and I'd had a couple of glasses of wine. But I had ordered bacon-wrapped alligator with homemade sauerkraut. And so, of course, I had to order a beer. They don't have beers on tap, but one of the owners had told me that this bottled beer they sold was very good.

Yes, La Fin du Monde means 'The End of the World' and I'm guessing that is fire and brimstone on the label. It fit my mood. FFP drank a bottle of Sweet Leaf tea. But he ordered a beet salad to start.

Today was a lovely day on the tennis court, especially at first when it was still cool and shady where we were playing. I didn't play that well, but I did have fun. We don't have a 'schedule' the rest of the afternoon (except that FFP is planning to watch football this evening) so it's hard to figure out what to do. We tentatively decide on a movie at the Alamo Ritz. I shower and we walk over there. The Pecan Street Festival is going on. It looks like a seedy State Fair. We see a booth for an artist we knew long ago. "It's a long, sad way down," I say. But maybe it isn't true. Maybe he's making lots of coin.

We are the first ones in the theater to see "Burn After Reading." All the trailers show Brad Pitt acting like an empty-headed gym dork but the movie is so much more than that. George Clooney is a character with a partially furnished head who is a sex addict. John Malkovich is a character who is intelligent enough, too intelligent maybe, and can't get over himself. Frances McDormand is a very empty-headed character who does probably the stupidest things and is, in the end, rewarded by getting what she wants. (Although one suspects it doesn't get her what she wants.) It is so Coen Brothers. High intrigue with simple explanations and disastrous results. I like it. There was so much physical acting and spot on action that all the characters, major and minor, were revealed and then their hilarious (yet explosive and dark) interactions made tons of sense.

We walk back through the tawdry festival and stop at CVS. I broke a shoelace in my hiking boot on the way over. I buy some that turn out to be almost long enough, usable. FFP buys some shaving balm that turns out to have a broken cap. The elevators don't seem to be working when we return. He goes out to return the shaving stuff. I have to walk my friend's dog at five or so. (Which will involve four elevator rides.)

My good cheer is evaporating. Sigh.

But...it's not the end of the world.

Hope

Lots of people are looking for hope these days...including this graffiti artist who thoughtfully put a message going both ways on the hike and bike.

My mental landscape veers between hope and anxiety, bouncing around like the stock market.

So far we don't think our unit is impacted by the massive leak in our building and don't think they will be wielding their sledge hammers in here. (Although they gave us a scare yesterday by sending us an e-mail about removing material from our unit).

It's a cozy little nest, this place is, exactly like we want it with a few exceptions. The shades aren't right yet and there isn't a sub-woofer (although the surround sound is awesome even without it). Many channels we are paying for are 'searching for satellite' a lot of the time. There are still a few pictures to hang and a couple of small pieces of furniture to work out. Nothing cosmic. It's really peaceful and lovely in here.

When you step out the door, however, there is a vaguely industrial smell, fans blowing and wallpaper whipping around some bare studs, baseboards pulled off. When the elevator stops on other floors you hear the roar of fans and see piles of debris. Going in and out of the place feels strange. When you get close to the door there is that roar. I've become obsessive about cleaning my place and reorganizing. Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.

People wiped out by Ike and other floods, residents of this very building whose units are like the hallway all have far more reason to let the thing called hope fly away. But, as it says in a part of the poem (by Emily Dickinson, of course) not so often quoted:

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've been trying from the beginning to think of this condo as a permanent place, a home for many years. Now I simply see it as a resting place before the next storm.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

We are all followers in our own way. Slaves to the fashions of the moment and inordinately proud if we step out a bit from the ruts laid down by others. I like to think I have my own 'style' for clothes, hair, activities and attitude. But I'm sure I'm being influenced mightily.

Sometimes one wonders what will happen next. What storm, what failure, whose death, what OJ will be in court for? (Can you believe that amidst all the Ike devastation and Wall Street meltdown that we are still getting massive updates from old OJ in court?) I very much feel I'm moving into a new phase, but recent events are making me feel very unsettled about how it might turn out.

We went to a Heritage Society thing last night in a house that was once owned by Charles Marsh and that had decoration by Mansbendel and Weigl. The current owners have spent enormous amounts of money restoring the house and then effort, money and insurance restoring windows after a storm. FFP and I enjoyed looking at the place but all we really saw was maintenance, maintenance, maintenance. We almost have our condo like we want it and it is small and the exterior and common areas are someone else's problem. (Well, the Homeowner's Association and the developer and how much of an issue that is remains to be seen.) We hope we have simplified our involvement with our shelter and can think of other things. Last night we vowed to keep trying to simplify our lives in any way we can. FFP said at least we'd gotten rid of lots of possessions. I said I wanted to stay the course on that. He agreed.

Well, we'll see.

It's hard to simplify with all the clamor to get you to buy gadgets and fashionable things and be entertained in myriad ways. It helps to wear the same clothes for years, fashion be hanged.

The picture was taken of the VIVID shop window recently and the monkey observing a (human?) skull seems to be some sort of game board or once-lighted sign.

Why Blogging is Perfect For Me

I noticed that Austin, Texas Daily Photo is about to catch up to this blog in number of posts. I don't want Visible Woman to become yet another LB abandoned project. There are so many. My collection of 'stuff' reveals many fits and starts of projects. (I have this habit of getting interested in something, buying the books and then not reading them. I start collections in haphazard, unstudied ways. I buy cooking gadgets but never cook.) My collection of online blogs and WEB sites reveal great unfinished ideas and my computer is littered with fits and starts of projects represented by folders and files. There are bits of novels and short stories, mounds of journals. You get the idea.

But. You do a blog entry. You insert a photo. You ramble. You hit 'Publish Post.' It isn't exactly an accomplishment but there it is. It adds up. Not to much perhaps. But it does accumulate in a somewhat organized way.

This photo, of a shop window of a store called AREA, reflecting me, distorted and subtracted, partly there and not, perfectly describes how I'm not always exactly present, how I'm flitting. I'm here, I'm not here. (The reflected building above is Austin City Hall.)

While trying to publish this post, I had a phone call, a visitor, helped the visitor remove some stuff from the premises, distracted myself by trying to look at some financial stuff and started reading an article in yesterday's NY Times. But I wrote it, and now I'll hit 'publish post.'

Bigger Things

There are bigger things in the world than my small problems. The hurricane damage has even people who were flooded by the leak in our building saying "I guess we are lucky." Naturally we feel lucky to have been a hair's breath from the flooding in our building.

Lehman Brothers' bankruptcy has sent world markets into another tailspin. So what if I lose another couple of percentage points on my stocks and mutual funds and retirement funds? Others are worse off. (Of course, not the people who perpetrated the banking and mortgage crisis. They come out floating on golden parachutes.)

I am small. The world is big. I should be happy to be safe in a small corner of it, dry and with power and food and water. Just be thankful. That's my mantra.

The picture was taken at the By George store on South Congress during our big wander yesterday. We walked to Guero's for brunch and shopped a little on SoCo (buying nothing but an Orangina in Farm to Market Grocery to refresh at walk's midpoint). Then we went over to S. First on Annie and back to the condo. Nice long walk. Oh, and we didn't start our cars yesterday. We had a charity event at the Bob Bullock Museum on MLK. We walked over to Congress, caught a 'Dillo up Lavaca and went to the bar at the Clay Pit for a drink and snack. (We couldn't time the 'Dillo ride because they quit running at six on Sunday.) We walked from there to the museum and then were prepared to catch the Airport Flyer for a couple of stops to get home. (Or walk. Not so bad when the sun is down.) Some friends, however, insisted on going out of their way to drive us home.

Feeling Blank

This mural that looks perpetually unfinished (like ads or pictures might appear in the boxes) is on North Lamar just south of the Tavern. Where you, my faithful few readers know, I was on Tuesday.

On Tuesday I thought maybe I'd finish 'tricking out' the condo. Oh, I knew something would probably be missing or wrong and need fixing. Big projects are like that. I knew a hurricane was coming and was vaguely worried about how bad the offshoot weather would be in Austin and how our building and our houses would fare. I'd become increasingly disgusted with how our brand new high rise operates, how poor elevator service is and such and so was vaguely worried about getting everything up to the tenth floor on Thursday.

Thursday didn't go too badly. After FFP got the concierge to open the door to the loading dock door and figured out how to operate the freight elevator himself we got the stuff up here.

Then, of course, the unexpected happened. The thing about the flood (or leak as I call it or as the building management calls it an 'incident' or 'water flow' problem) is this: while I escaped damage (apparently) in my condo, many people did not. The water was, quite literally, about ten feet away. The elevators got flooded. They are operating haphazardly still (which, frankly, they also did before). There are dirty streaks inside them where water flowed. Frankly, one is put in mind of an ancient and subsidized apartment. Remediation equipment is all over the place. There are harried residents fighting a battle between the developer and the management with their insurance companies and lawyers at their side.

I feel helpless, of course. I love my condo and except for the unfinished shades (which also need some adjustment) things are just the way I want them. But it all seems ephemeral. I will never feel like it will last. I see water coursing down the walls, damaging the book cases and the books I've so carefully assembled. I see it damaging my art, my electronics. Nothing seems safe.

Of course, people say that we don't want to let this get out (that we have these problems a mere four months after the building is occupied) or we can never sell or lease our property. But, you know, you are required to disclosed anything you know about such problems. Can't escape it.

As time goes by, if they get the elevators working and assure us that they have inspected and re-inspected whatever systems failed and all remediation is done, then I'll become more comfortable and complacent. Probably I won't get flooded by a leak. Something else will happen. It will come out of left field when I'm comfortable. On Shoal Creek I fought water. Water came in the garage in the '81 flood (from the street not Shoal Creek) and we fought it back with a French drain and sealants. (In that flood, water reached into our yard on the bluff and knocked down fences, too.) Water main breaks happened in our front yard three different times. Our pressure step down valve failed and water erupted in the garage where the service entered the house. We had sprinkler system leaks, roof leaks, condensation line leaks and toward the end a leak in the service from meter to house and had to rebuild that. I thought that I'd worry less about water on the tenth floor of a brand new building developed by a company experienced in high rise construction.

Time will pass. I'll worry about something else. Meanwhile I'm going to revel in living where I want to live. Being urban. But I won't forget water. Beside the building is a creek. It is, in fact, Shoal Creek. Of course, it won't rise to the tenth floor (or if it does, you know, goodbye Austin) but it could rise up and lap around the building stranding us here. The lake could come up here. Tom Miller Dam could fail.

After the Northridge Earthquake in '94 my friend who had lived there moved to Austin. She said that for a long time she would look at glass objects on shelves and think 'that is going to break in the next earthquake.' Even though the objects were here in Austin where the earth doesn't move that often.

So I'm seeing water damage. But my future disaster is probably something else.

Oh, My. Chained Melody!

Well, if the drilling in the next room was worrying me yesterday and I'd found a few things to complain about that guaranteed I was going to have to have workmen back here another day and it all seemed futile...well, that was nothing! The guys working on the AV decided they had to go to their truck for something. Then they popped in and said 'FYI, there is water pouring out of the telephone room.' They were right about that. Yikes. One condo, a one bedroom, separates us from this little room with all its phone wires and cables and routers for Internet and TV. About then the gals came out of the sales office down the hall and said we had to evacuate. It was about three and I'd just started to eat a late lunch of some cheese and crackers. (I'd had a taco and a banana for breakfast earlier and I don't usually do breakfast so I was a bit off, but I'd gotten hungry.) So, yeah. We lock up and go down the stairs with our four workmen. And we don't get back in the place until around five. It looks like 9-11 except no one is hurt. Lots of fire trucks, firemen running up the stairs, EMTs standing by with stretchers. The EMTs gave water to over-heated people. Finally I went into the Mulberry, a wine bar on the first floor, which kept operating. We sat in the cool (AC still working) and had beers and I had a sandwich and thought of that delicious cheese on my counter.

So, yeah. Worse than having guys drilling in your living room.

What happened, apparently, is that a sprinkler pipe burst on the 19th floor. I think the people on 19 were put up in hotels. Water remediation teams had to climb to 19 with equipment. Because water went into the elevatoars and they didn't work. They still don't. My workmen had to climb up here to work on the AV and they are going to have to remove the ladders and tools for the shade guys as well as their own. On the stairs. Now, we are on the 10th floor. Imagine if you live on 29 or 33 or, I don't know how high it goes where people are living, but WOW. Supposedly we will have one elevator 'some time this afternoon.'

And I was worried about drilling in my living room. And Ike (which seems to have turned his cheek to us but has sent thousands of refugees our way).

I went up to eleven and rescued my friend's poodle yesterday afternnoon who was unhappy and confused at being drug down eleven flights of stairs. My friend got home from work and we drove to the eighth floor and walked back up, changed and drove out of the place from eight and went to Ruth's Chris to drown our sorrows. We weren't surprised to find no elevators when we returned. We drove up to eight and climbed the two flights (three for my friend).

This morning, FFP called about the newspapers. The concierge said he hadn't had time to climb up with them. Yikes, who would expect that anyway? I went down and got them. The climb up was a little harder than yesterday when I was running on adrenelin. Of course, I was chatting with my neighbor who lives on one side of the telephone room. He didn't get water but the guy on the other side did.

When you are looking one way, something always happends somewhere else. Of course, I am cooped up inside now with workmen (who had to climbe the stairs) who should have finished yesterday. By the time that's cleared out, the weather will probably turn bad. So it goes. It could be worse. I could be in the path of Ike.

The picture was taken on Second Street I think.

My New Neighborhood

One of the first things we did when we moved downtown was make dates with some couples who already lived downtown. We'd met them downtown for meals before or visited in their places, but this was to inaugurate downtown friendships in this new way: WE LIVE DOWNTOWN, TOO! One couple mentioned how many places they walked to and it seemed like they really walked a long way. Since the weather was moving into the teeth of summer, it surprised me. But the longer we are down here, the more we realize how easy and fun it is to roam around on your feet.

When I walked to The Tavern on Tuesday for my friend's book signing, I realized how easy it was to roam over to things in that stretch of Lamar. Not just the venerable Tavern but Wink Wine Bar, an interesting looking health food snack bar, Betty Sport (sport stuff for the ladies) and Twelfth Street Books. The latter (where the picture was taken) is a real live (as opposed to WEB only) erudite secondhand bookstore. Most of those don't maintain a storefront anymore. (I saw my friend David at Momo's the other night and he used to run a great place called State House Books. He is still in the business. Only just virtually.) Which reminds me: my dad and I somehow got on the topic of 'book rate' postage and wondered if it still exists. And, yes, it does.

But I digress. My new neighborhood. Yesterday I only got out in the neighborhood for that walk over to the Four Seasons. I felt cooped up because, for the rest of the day, the closest I got to getting out was going to the parking garage to get some books out of my car and going to the concierge to get a package. I ordered some bookends. Given our decoration strategy (bookshelves, bookshelves, bookshelves with art and artifacts and gewgaws mixed in, all artfully arranged in the aesthetic of devil may care modern collector), our decorator said 'bookends are our friends.' However, only the right bookends work, in my opinion, so we gave some away, saved ones we thought would work and have used things that aren't really bookends. It looks nice, but we are still in the market for a few cool bookends.

But, yeah, digression from new neighborhood and walking in it. Did I mention that I'm stuck inside again today with workmen doing my 'final' AV stuff and motorized shades? Did I mention that Hurricane Ike has promised some stormy weather late tomorrow and early Saturday?

But really the possibilities for things to be walked to are endless. When we moved in, a friend who had been leasing in the Brown Building waiting for his place in this building, turned us on to the delights of Torchy's Tacos which had a trailer in Little Woodrow's parking lot a hop and skip down the street. But they moved! To S. First, I believe. Some people we had turned on to Torchy's just walked the mile and a half each way to satisfy their Torchy desires. Cool.

So, yeah I'm stuck inside getting stuff that makes you stay inside: fancy shades to block the early morning sun and fancy AV equipment. So, you know, you can stick in a Blu-Ray disk at seven in the morning and watch Blu-Ray DVDs all day long with surround sound. I've never seen a Blu-ray disk played (except maybe by accident in a store) and I've never owned a flat screen HD television bigger than the nineteen inch one I bought for a temporary one back in June. I don't own a Blu-ray disk. I thought of buying one (1) Blu-ray Disk but I couldn't find one at Costco. I didn't look too hard.

I wish I were out walking. Guys measuring and drilling in my condo make me palpably nervous. Forrest finds errands to do although I don't think it makes him as nervous. He knows I ordered this stuff and I have to answer questions. Although I can't imagine I'd know the answers.

There are so many places I could walk to. Even to the University on a good day. Or take the 'Dillo up there and then walk around. I could go to the Harry Ransom Center or the Blanton, shop on the drag. Heck for the price of the AV and shades, I could take a limo up there every day for a year or two probably and have them wait while I had a burger at Dirty Martin's.

We proved the other day that walking to toney SoCo is no problem. I could shop for weird bookends at Uncommon Objects. We could explore South Lamar, North Lamar (see above) and S. First. We could wander in old West Austin and Clarksville like we did the other day. Of course, downtown offers many wandering options. The library is on Guadalupe, not far away. It's true that the homeless population has made the Central Library a home away from no home, but there are still books there for ordinary people. Wait! I have enough books in the condo (after furious downsizing of them and with a few boxes pending at my dad's house) to last a reader a lifetime. Especially a reader who gets The New Yorker (fifty issues or so a year) and who has subscriptions to two seven-day-a-week newspapers, one six-day-a-week newspaper and one weekly newspaper and who occasionally picks up at least one free weekly. Ruined by Reading. Which is the title of a book that I don't think I gave away. I think it's still in a box at Dad's house.

I could walk to a myriad of coffee shops and write on my laptop or in a journal and look literary. I could walk to the Capitol and take a tour.

But today I sit, logged onto the Internet and worry at the sounds of drilling in the next room. Maybe I'll pop the DVDs of all issues of The New Yorker from 1925 through April 30, 2007 into my iMac and browse around. But I'd sort of rather be walking.

I Forgot to Say What I Ate

So, yeah when last seen, the Visible Woman promised a report on lunch. Day before yesterday's lunch! Hmmm. Where does the time go? That isn't my refrigerator but a window display on South Congress showing trendy products in an old refrigerator. The window was intended, during these dog days, to project coolness. In more ways than one.

So I had a panini sandwich for lunch day before yesterday. It had pesto on it. I was in a wine bar but I had water to drink. I'm thinking I went incommunicado after that last note precisely because I didn't want to describe my terrible diet. I think there was some of the ever popular arugula with that sandwich. For dinner on Monday, I had guacamole, hot sauce, chips, enchiladas and a beer. My companions were being good. They had guac and chips and stuff but had salads they didn't finish. And tea, not beer. I topped that off by buying a single, large Hefeweissen at Royal Blue on the way back from the restaurant and drinking it at home.

Yesterday, the good news was that I didn't eat anything until about 1 or 2. I was busy. I played tennis, ran a couple of errands and went to my dad's house where we washed the filter on his HVAC unit and I sorted some books to bring a few more into the fold at the condo. Didn't have time to eat. When I did, I chose, um, nachos! But just water to drink.

I walked to the Tavern (12th and Lamar) around 4:30 and it was plenty hot out so a cool Newcastle was nice when I got there. I wasn't just wandering around looking for a cool beer...could have done that steps from my building front door. A friend of mine was having a book signing for her book. I've known her since I first moved to Austin and while I rarely see her any more I thought it would be a great chance to catch up.

Dinner last night involved a couple of glasses of wine, a peach and arugula salad and risotto and (the shame of it!) a share in some rich dessert.

Too much food! So what did I do? Go to The Four Seasons for a delicious Market Breakfast which had heirloom tomatoes, local sausage, local Goat Cheese and eggs and a griddle cake. I don't even eat breakfast usually. Now I have to stave off the desire for napping and accomplish some of my goals for today. Hmm...what were they again?

Onward

I have lifted my head and will now move onward. I will finish sorting and straightening the stuff that didn't already get tossed. I will do creative projects. I will learn new things. I will entertain my friends with witty conversation that never touches on the topics of downsizing and moving. I will make a book of shop window reflections. I will call this one 'Butterfly' and wonder if people notice the building reflected in the glass. I will buy strange black frocks and mix it up with society types. Well, maybe scratch the last part.

The weekend was kind of strange. Between me and VMWare, I bollixed my Windows image. (I'm running MAC OS X and XP on this machine). My techie tended to blame the setup and the software, but, you know, I pay him. I must pay him one day to teach me the magic. He got most everything back and what he didn't recover I think we got all fixed up from the data backups. This happened Friday night and Saturday I tried to fix it and recovered stuff to my laptop and Sunday he fixed it for me.

I played tennis Saturday and then, because I was part way north, made a trip to Costco and then my Dad's. He wanted D batteries and toilet paper. He had a stash of the latter in the garage but he didn't notice it. I visited with him, did a few things for him that he can't do and sorted three boxes of books. I took two boxes back to the condo because we do have some space for books still. You have to mount the ladder to get to most of the rest of the space, but this is where books as decoration comes in. Who has time to read anyway?

Actually I now have times when I choose between reading the papers, reading a book or The New Yorker or writing. Or watching TV. Or, you know, eating and drinking.

Saturday we went early to Lambert's just as they opened when there was no one at the bar but staff chatting and getting briefed. Craig, the actor bartender who looks like some famous actor or maybe an amalgam of two or three, served us some food and I had a cucumber gimlet (with vodka substituted for the gin they recommend). OK, I had a glass of wine, too. We came back and I finished reading an interesting article in a New Yorker that was a couple weeks old and watched some of the U.S. Open tennis and then we went to the building's media room and watched the U.T. football game with a few other residents while a private party raged outside in the clubroom. The sound-proofing is good...the sound only rushed in when someone opened the door.

I spent five hours on Sunday, closer to six really watching my techie minister to my computers and network while I was going through some paper files and straightening them out. A lot of stuff got moved rather haphazardly at the end. After that, I had cabin fever. Or, in this case, tenth floor condo fever. (FFP had been out to take stuff to my car and storage and to get tacos and across the hall to work out.) We headed over to Taste and sat around eating stuff and drinking wine and picking out some party wine to take home and working the NY Times Sunday magazine crossword and talking to three of the owners of the place who were around working and planning. Then jazz started at five so we listened for a while before going home and reading some more Sunday papers while alternating between tennis and football and watching "Mad Men."

A good weekend. Except for the computer woes and evertying seems to be working out now including some new features we added to the mix. I don't think FFP started his car since Friday night. (When he drove five of us to see Elaine Stritch at Austin Cabaret Theater at Mansion at Judge's Hill.)

This morning we had a little shower downtown. I was supposed to play tennis so I called the captain of the team I'm subbing for and said "You know, if it's going to be a rainout I don't want to start my car!" But she said it wasn't raining and had only sprinkled a little earlier. I went and played. It went to three sets, but I was on the winning side. It didn't hurt that my partner (tall and twenty years younger than I) hit a few aces and service winners in the last game.

So here I am. Back with the details. I'm going out to lunch. I'll report back. No unexamined meals. I'm going to be a better correspondent. With you and with myself.

The Unexamined LIfe

After you die, people write about you, sum up your life. If you are somebody, maybe someone writes a biography or you write your autobiography while you are still around. (If you are nobody, you write a memoir!) Old Plato said it.

"The life which is unexamined is not worth living."
--Plato, Dialogues

I just finished writing a little piece about a friend who died last year for another friend to use in a tribute. I have so much material about this friend that it's hard to hone in on a couple of pages of words and quotes and a few pictures. The e-mail file for this friend has almost 2000 pieces of mail. As I struggled to keep my facts straight (even the year something happened sometimes eludes me sometimes) I appreciated the scattered online journals that I kept and that e-mail file and files of paper journals and records.

I realize that I've neglected any kind of journal for some weeks except a few scattered and distant entries here that now seem full of self-absorption and self-pity and short on facts.

The other day a friend said something like 'I'm tired of the examined life.' Not me, though. The better record I have the better I feel...even when I can't locate anything in the heaps and piles of pictures and words. I wish I had a record of every bite I'd ever eaten and every movie I'd ever seen and every song I'd ever heard. So. I've got to get back on the journal bandwagon. Online and/or off.

While thinking about this entry, I tried to find the above quote by looking in my old journal entries housed on the IPOWER host. All my WEB pages on this service were out of service. Very disconcerting.

This reflection picture, by the way, is from the store VIVID although in the picture name I identified it as Uncommon Objects. You live, you lose track, you die.

Reflecting on Who I Am

I am grappling with my new life and all its components. Yesterday I had a meeting in my old neighborhood and afterward I tried to locate new owners of our house because they got some of our mail (because, of course, the P.O. can't seem to forward it all). I didn't find the owners but it was weird ringing my old door bell, standing on the porch and checking out whether wasps had rebuilt the nest we'd eliminated right before we sold it. Then I made the trip downtown from the old house which I've made so often this summer. True, it's not that different from the trip from my in-laws house a few blocks away to our new abode. I made that trip the day before because I had to do something for my mother-in-law. We made the trip back and forth so many times, trying to clean out the old house, live in the new one, move stuff.

Today I went to the old house again, got the mail and visited with the new owners in their house. It is odd it not being my house especially with some of our old furniture still there.

I suppose I'm settled in the condo, but sometimes it feels surreal being there. I don't plan to leave downtown until Tuesday. Unless we decide to do something I haven't thought of as yet. That's weird.

Who am I? Where do I live?

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.

The Half Life of Objects

Shot this photo today on West Sixth while taking a long, languorous walk with FFP, my friend Suru and her dog. This store had some interesting objects like this alphabet doll. Some objects d'art and 'stuff' and books made the trip downtown with us, some things we left behind or gave away. Interestingly, my friend SuRu captured a few things from the house that we were leaving behind but which met the aesthetic of her place one floor up. It's neat to see those things working up there that we would have otherwise abandoned.

We think the things we brought, the things we are adding in from shops and the things we plan to acquire will look good. It's amazing to think of all you own, have owned, will own. I once tried to make a list of things I owned. I reviewed this recently, thinking about where that particular list of stuff went. Now that I've reduced a lot of the stuff, I'm taking the time to go back through and sort it and organize it. I'm sure that I've totally forgotten some things or where they went.

It's OK, though. Stuff comes, stuff goes. We come along and then we, too, are gone, taking some of the meaning from our collected stuff.

Perhaps I often sound too materialistic here. But, really, all this angst about possessions is my attempt to rob them of their power. Really.

Big Sigh

I should be relieved. I'm out of the house. Of course, I still don't have the lights, shades or TVs I ordered and the glass desk for the office still hasn't been delivered and I don't have the chair I ordered for the office. (Forrest and I contend for the one we managed to get while we wait for it.) But I should be relieved. Somehow, though, I felt happier and less dislocated when we were camping, living in the living room, sleeping on the foldout bed and eating off a card table, sharing a laptop and with a lot of our stuff hostage in a house we weren't living in. Really, honestly, this is nice. Just enough stuff. Well within reach. When we have the new lights and all and that office chair, it will be, if not perfect, really nice. Why the let down? Just the usual 'after crisis' let down, I guess.

Well, That's That, Isn't It?

There I am, snapping a shop window on Second as if I live in the neighborhood. Of course, I've lived here, more or less, since June 2. But now I don't have another home to go to for showers, TV, the occasional sleep and sorting, sifting, tossing, cleaning, tossing, freting. Most of the 'stuff' that survived is tucked into this place, the 43 square foot storage unit in the parking garage or at our parents' houses. And a lot of it still needs a bit of sifting. And organizing. We haven't completely lost anything (that I know of) except for a remote to a DVD/VCR that I bet shows up if I go through everything. Which I will. One day. Meanwhile, I'm going to try to get this place finished with all the lights, AV and shades we want installed. And buy a few more things (or get them delivered). And then WHAT? You tell me.

Countdown

I snapped this reflection of my outline against a mural being painted in a space that I guess is going to be a design studio last night. After a hard day of moving, we were walking to have a good meal and a glass of wine. We are exhausted with the effort to move every last thing we want to keep from the big house by Thursday night. The new owners say we can take our time, but things work out better in a sale if you make a clean break of it. We are now working our way through rooms, only leaving things we are giving to the new owners, tools that we are using (tape, scissors, packing, boxes, bags, etc.) and things we need to give special attention to. I am feeling more like the black outline of myself than the colorful swirl of the mural. But that will change. Soon I'll have one home and although I'll be surrounded by boxes of books and artifacts that haven't found a place, they will be books I love, books that survived sifting and sorting up to ten times to make the move and artifacts that escaped, over and over, a trip to a charity sale. All will be well. But must survive the week.

I Wish I Had TIme to Tell You

I wish I had time to tell you all the feelings of this move. I wanted to vacate the house by the end of August. The buyer wanted in two weeks earlier. Well, who are we to quibble? We would have probably left a number of things to the last minute in any case. That's why they call it the last minute.

We have started to give away very nice things that we bought for the house or people gave us. Some have a different aesthetic than our new place. Some won't fit. The charities are starting to get something besides moldy books and slightly worn and out-of-date clothes. Actually we've been giving away pretty good stuff all along, but you wouldn't believe the stuff we are giving away or leaving behind for the new owners now that our feet are to the fire, the guns to our heads and all those clichés that sound odd in the plural.

When it's over maybe I'll have more words. And pictures.

What Makes a Home?

What makes a home anyway? We've been 'living' in the condo off and on, mostly on, since June 2. Almost two months.

I guess if you have a working kitchen, shower, bed then you can make a home.

The kitchen was reasonably functional the day we moved in. We brought some pots and pans, glasses, plates, silverware and a coffee maker. It wasn't long before we decided we had to move our favorite coffee maker. The refrigerator, stove, microwave, disposal, etc. were all functional.

For seating we had the movers bring a card table and Costco folding chairs as well as our ultimate 'sitting and reading and watching TV' chairs from our old bedroom. Yesterday the bar stools, chairs, table and console you see above were delivered. They'd been in the warehouse a while because we thought they were a bit fragile to have around while cabinet makers drug in hundreds of pieces of wood of varying sizes up to about twelve feet long. We still have to have lighting guys come in with lengths of track and anchor drills for sag support. And big screens TVs to be delivered. But we couldn't wait any longer. I feared the stuff would disappear from the warehouse. And a card table and folding chairs just didn't cut it any more.

We slept on the sofa bed until Monday when, our custom platform bed having been delivered, we got the new mattress. If you enlarge the picture above you can just see that the bedroom is finally not empty save a massage chair and a lamp. Who knows when that new sofa bed will be opened up again? We like to say that the Extended Stay America on Sixth is our guest room.

Really things are functional now. We need office chairs and lighting desparately. We would enjoy better sound and TV. Although a Bose, a 19inch LCD and the right attitude have gone a long way towards entertaining us. Not to mention the scores of bars and restaurants within walking distance of our front door.

Eight Days and a Dark Place

It's been eight days since I was visible here. You are looking at a dark place. I've been in a state of euphoria or a dark place, swinging between the two. These office components were actually supposed to be a lighter stain. We decided we liked the dark okay, but we wish they had used it in the living room so we could have seen it the way we ordered it. We are living with it rather than sending a million little pieces back to the shop. It took them hours to load the trailer with the components to get them here and have us say, "oh, switched the stains." Anyway, it was chaos getting it in. We haven't quite got it finished. There is a punch list of little staining touch up they have to schedule. The room needs light. We recieved no fixture at all in the ceiling junction in this room for our umpty ump dollars. The bid for the track lights I wanted came in on the stratospheric side of implausible. Must get light, though. And new office chairs. And phones, lamps, supplies properly placed. We did get our computers moved. Mine has an annoying problem connecting to the rest of the network. Supposed to get some help with that today. I'm still upset with Apple that the Bluetooth wireless keyboard and (un)Mighty Mouse doesn't work better. They just arbitrarily quit working. Fortunately neither FFP nor I are relying on them. I have the wired versions (the wireless keyboard doesn't have a number pad but you know Mac isn't good with numbers!) and switch when they decide to quit working. FFP blanched at the little toy keyboard and we set him up with a much less sleek and design-driven wireless USB keyboard.

But progress is promised on all fronts. A bid for lighting we might can swallow, the glass desk top. A mattress delivered. (Monday! We've been on the sleeper sofa for six weeks plus I guess. We now have a platform bed that looks naked and alone with no mattress, a retreat for a monk or something.) Tuesday we get our real dining table, chairs, bar stools and console. We decided we better get them delivered before the warehouse lost them. However, we still have the install of track lights, shades (if we don't change our minds) and a speaker system and AV stuff. We'll try to cover the good furniture as we did with our couch and chairs and such while sawdust, paint and stain and six workers were swirling around to put in the cabinets. Finally it will be finished and we can start creating situations that need maintenance, failing to clean often enough, letting dust and piles of papers to be dealt with accumulate.

Meanwhile, at the old house, where we spend time sorting, packing and tossing still? Chaos. And the threat of needing to vacate in less than three weeks.

On the euphoria side is the fun of popping out to have salad and pizza at Frank and Angie's and watching the frenetic nightlife of Saturday night downtown from the safe remove of the tenth floor.

Taradiddle

The other morning I made my regular morning call to my Dad and he said "I have a word for you." He disappeared for a moment and returned to the phone and said 'taradiddle.' Then he spelled it. He found it while reading "Out of Africa." I looked it up (online, of course) and found:

taradiddle
1. a trivial lie;
2. pretentious or silly talk or writing

This seemed funny and appropriate to me somehow.

And I think it is a tribute to my dad that he is still finding words he doesn't know in books he's reading. That's probably the reason he's lived as long (and as independent) a life as he has.

Transient

I'm the opposite of homeless. I'm homeful. This hasn't made me feel more at home, however. It's made me feel at loose ends. Like I'm on an odd working vacation in old haunts.

I feel like I'm on a trip and I keep losing my luggage. As I predicted, things are always in the wrong place. Need to write a check at the house? Checkbook is downtown. Come to the house and get a shower after tennis and then try to find a pair of loafers you like in the closet. Things I like to wear keep migrating downtown. I have to carefully sack up my sweaty tennis clothes, however, and take them downtown to launder them so I'll have them when I head to tennis.

When we are at our 'big house' we will go to places in the 'hood like we are folks returning to an old neighborhood where they once lived. Downtown we feel at home in the neighborhood and in our place but we have so little stuff down there that it is exceedingly odd.

There is still enough stuff at Shoal Creek to lead a life. I have a set of toiletries, a few clothes (although besides the loafer shortage I find that I never have a belt and keep going through ones FFP obviously hasn't worn in ages looking for one I can steal).

We keep thinning the stuff. Shredding ancient financial statements and business records. Putting out our 'free' sign with junk at the curb. FFP took another load to the thrift store, several boxes of kitchen stuff, clothes. I don't miss any of it when it's gone. Of course not. In the wake of all these departures, however, the stuff seems to be blooming and growing. Maybe it's dragging open cabinets and drawers and places of refuge. Maybe it's that there is some secret river of stuff that flows through this house.

I feel like I'm on a trip. I've taken along some old clothes and hope to just leave them behind as they get dirty. I haven't actually done this in the past, leaving behind worn out underwear and jackets and shirts with elbows almost (or actually) worn through. I wouldn't do this now if I were going on a real trip. Heck, I might get something new to wear.

The picture above was taken two years ago when we took a car trip in our old Accord. We'd driven straight through until we got to Baltimore where we stayed an extra night so we could have a look around, go to some museums. I don't know that we'd even thought of moving out of the house then. Forrest was settling into retirement. We wanted to go somewhere. And we did. I feel like a lot has changed since then.

Since I have so many places that I randomly find myself these days, I've been having a rather eclectic reading list. Our papers are delivered downtown, dropped in front of our door by the concierge. Sometimes at night I read them there. I have taken a couple of books down there that I'd been trying to finish forever. I have been reading Tobias Wolff's "In Pharaoh's Army" in Forrest's car. (And also when we are out in his car and we go somewhere to eat, just the two of us, which is a time when we read and only converse if the reading leads us to something we want to discuss.) I found myself reading magazines still scattered around the house when I'm there or a section of newspaper from months ago. While eating a sandwich in the kitchen of the house the other day, I read a little booklet of Globe Facts that turned up somewhere and that I was about to toss. The earth is almost a perfect sphere. However, the diameter from pole to pole is twenty-seven miles shorter than the equator diameter. This isn't stuff you need to save a little booklet for reference. (The booklet probably came with a globe I bought at some time in the past.) I should throw it away. But here I am reading it while eating a Thundercloud sub. We never seem to have food at the house and we have gone to the nearby Thundercloud for sandwiches several times. We have revisited Fonda San Miguel Restaurant, Billy's, Blue Star and Mother's in a similar sort of goodbye gesture. But we'll probably still go to these places. We went downtown when we didn't live there, after all.

There are so many things that need doing that I'm often paralyzed from it. I run away to the other house or suddenly 'have' to blog or do something on the computer. Inch by inch I get things done, though, or by power of suggestion FFP does them for me.

One thing I haven't found time to do is keep up my personal journal. I'm sure I'll regret that one day. I'll be trying to figure out exactly when something happened and then information just won't be there. Meanwhile, a pile of hand-written journals awaits the thinning in the storage room at the house. That's a tough one. I get set adrift on a river of memories and can't find my way back to shore.

In a way, when I'm not worrying and obsessing and trying to figure what the heck to do with something, I'm enjoying this. It's like being on vacation in two spots in my own town. I've become used to the keys and access cards for my hotels, found my favorite coffee spots and yet I'm distant enough from work and duty to just enjoy reading for pleasure. Then the work and duty comes roaing back.

Everyone says I will look back on this with amusement, that it will all be over one day. I guess. It seems to have become a permanent lifestyle.

Changes

Things are changing so fast for us now. Downtown we are living a temporary lifestyle, sleeping on a sleeper sofa, using a laptop; the two bedrooms are largely empty awaiting built-in furniture. Monday work starts on that in our place (it has been happening in the cabinet maker's shop up to now). At the house, we continue to fix things up for sale and discard and redirect possessions. Two bedrooms, four closets, the original living room and a hallway are empty, repainted and floors refinished. A potential buyer pulled an inspection and we picked up a few more things to do from that. (And other things for which we said, um, OK so what?? or WTF? That's always the way with inspections.) I still find myself at the big house needing a shower after tennis and fortunately there is still a supply of soap, shampoo, towels, underwear, etc. I keep putting on shoes and jeans and polos there which end up at the condo. (I keep my tennis shoes that I play tennis in with me at all times so I have them for the next game. Tennis is my bulwark against change. It's the thing I do that's the same to keep the change from overwhelming me. FFP has some of these things, too.)

In this photo, fragments of reflected FFP and I appear in the window of Las Manitas with its signs and fliers. Also reflected is the growing Austonian. This was taken in June. The Austonian has started to peek up in view from our condo, too. We also are watching the progress of the Legacy apartments on Rainey Street from our condo. And from the exercise room we watch the Spring rising. (That's another condo building.) Things are changing and not just for us.

A couple of my friends have had to see parents go to more managed care situations of late. Our parental units rock along in their houses. My dad was outside today trying to get a little water on the foundation. (If you don't live in Austin, we are amidst a severe drought.) Not much has changed for them which is good. They don't tolerate change well.

Change is everywhere and I'm having to adapt. We've lived (or camped) in the condo long enough that we have to do chores here. Sweep the floor, do the dishes, feed ourselves, wash clothes. We still find the house needing these things, too. We still have maid service there. We are sorting and moving stuff around in the house and migrating stuff downtown. We have to get out of the way of the work that's going to be done there, however so that's another issue.

And so it goes. Change. Change. Change. And yet the old familiar house, the familiarity of Dad's house and the new and growing familiarity with our downtown condo and the places that surround it.

Objects Are Closer....

We were walking across a little plaza where Third Street ends going West. Part of someone's shattered rear view mirror was there. I shot this picture of the palm tree and our building before depositing it in the trash.

Bringing our 'surviving' objects to the condo and living close to them is making everything appear closer. Things are lightened from their surroundings and yet sometimes bulky in the new, limited space.

I wish I'd planned more about what stayed, how it was organized in this place. When we have our built-ins a lot will change, though. I wish I'd organized the stuff that looms at home a bit more.

But all my wishing won't reduce the load. Only tossing and giving and thinking about the stuff again does that. To cheer myself up, I think of everything that is already gone, away from us, in the landfill or the lake of secondhand things loose in the world.

A Place for Reflection

Yesterday, Independence Day, I caught the reflection of a flag fluttering in one of the porthole 'windows' of the Avenue Lofts. This spot, The Visible Woman, in all its incarnations (it has had a life going back to 1999, first on its own as WWW.VISWOMAN.COM) has always been a spot for reflection (and not just the photo kind). Lately, as I've gone through the motions of chores and duties at both my current 'homes' lots of reflection and introspection has taken place.

Living in the condo with only part of my possessions and no furniture in the bedroom or office has been interesting in many ways. The kitchen and bath are pretty fully outfitted. Despite that I have everything needed to shower, change clothes or cook a meal at what we've come to call 'the big house.' (Of course, there isn't much food at the house and no coffee maker since the little one cup french press got cracked.) We have fully embraced living downtown, stocking the kitchen partly from the Farmer's market, walking to restaurants and bars (and to last night's fireworks party at the Headliners Club), walking on the hike and bike trail and downtown streets, familarizing ourselves with things in our new, dense 'hood. I have the goal to visit all these different places anew, walking to them.

Deciding what stuff to bring to the condo and making new piles at home of stuff to discard or give away has necessitated a new round of touching and thinking about possessions. I've been loath to buy new things while this goes on. Of course, we've made big and little purchases for the condo, things we didn't have at the house or didn't have the thing with the right 'aesthetic.' I've avoided buying clothes, books or new gadgets. We are going to have new computers and TVs here eventually because of the necessity of reducing footprint.

I like my downtown perch and look forward to the day that it's my only spot. I'm ready to look forward and escape the pull of nostalgia that I get in the old house among the memories. I've taken a holiday these last two days and it's hard to know what to do with myself. I watched tennis, read, did a little cleaning around the condo (cleaning is SO much easier with lots fewer square feet...especially when there isn't much 'stuff').

I wish I had something profound to say, but I feel full of cobwebs and confusion, able to focus on the smallest things but losing the big picture, maybe.