Many Mes

If you click on the kaleidoscopic image above and make it bigger you will see that there are many LBs surrounded by NY City cabs. This was part of a complicated display in the Saks Fifth Avenue window that had a mannequin with a panning camera, a  bunch of mirros and an old-fashioned looking TV screen constantly showing a changing image. When the camera panned by you it put a bunch of pieces of you on the screen.

I often feel like there are many LBs, many sides of me. There's the lazy one who has been fighting some weird cough and stuffy head since returning from NYC and is sitting here, after 11 A.M. in her bathrobe, drinking coffee. I've had no shower or breakfast, but I have watched CBS Sunday Morning, updated my other blog and tackled the puzzles in the NY Times magazine with mixed success. There's the dynamic one who will suddenly and inexplicably accomplish great feats in a single day. 

There's the shy me that's happy to stay home while FFP visits with a Bush daughter who is playing the Mother Ginger role at Ballet Austin today. (He is the board member who has 'wrangled' celebrities to play this role in the ballet's production for years. Made up as a buxom woman, the victim, er celebrity, is rolled out atop a giant skirt and children dancing as candy bon-bons emerge.) FFP has done the role himself. And he loved it.

There's the aggressive LB willing to yell at drivers who ignore pedestrians without regard for whether they might be armed.

There's the LB who figures she can conquer anything. That she won't be felled by any illness but will 'feel better in a few hours, and, if not, tomorrow for sure.' There's the LB who feels like she's sinking into old age when her skin bruises too easily or she gets up from bed or a chair and can't walk properly for a few steps. Then there's the LB who thinks she can sprint across the tennis court and chase down every ball even when she can't and the last point proved it.

There's the LB who thinks she can solve any problem. And the one who finds some tax forms and investment reports impossible to decipher in her remaining years.

There's the me who makes fun of typos in publications. And the one who has homophones like 'here' for 'hear' or 'there' for 'their' somehow flow from finger to keyboard.

Of course, there is the LB who is generous with charities and friends and is a big tipper and will buy an expensive bottle of wine in a restaurant. And the one who worries over every charge on the credit card and makes cash flow analyses to be sure that taxes, insurance and large obligations will have ready cash and that she can pay those credit cards on time, early even. There is the LB who is wildly liberal vis-a-vis human rights and the one that isn't so sure that the 'rich' can really provide enough tax revenue to run the country. There is the LB who considers herself rich beyond her wildest dreams and the LB who not only remembers being poor but feels poor around certain acquaintances.

There's the LB who wants to write stuff here and bare her conflicted soul. And the one who thinks, "Really? Whose business is this?"

There is the LB who thinks holiday cards are silly. And the one who is about to hand address some with personal notes inside and who is excited to get every one in the mail. (Well, maybe not the ones from brokers, real estate agents and other businesses.)

My job in life is to manage the many mes and to not let them trip over each other too much. I'm not real sure how I've done in that regard.

Secret Addiction

Lego. If there is one toy (or really an endless toy system) that can stir my childish heart then it is the one with all those almost indestructible plastic interlocking bricks. They didn't figure into my childhood because the company didn't really hit their stride in the construction toy market in the U.S. until the 1970's. I made do with Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and an Erector Set. Cousins of mine, eight and ten years younger, had an American-made knock-off called American Plastic bricks. They were not as sturdy or interesting.

When I traveled around Europe aimlessly in 1972 I went to lots of toy stores. There were some amazing construction toys but even then in Europe there were no giant Lego displays and the brand was not the dominant player it is today. On my recent trip to New York City I refrained from going inside toy stores although I shot some pictures of the windows of the Lego Store in Rockefeller Center like the one above. I have made FFP go into the Times Square Toys 'R Us before to see the giant buildings and figures made from Lego. But during the Christmas season I wouldn't do that.

I still have the urge to buy a Lego set and put it together occasionally. But I've successfully resisted it for years. Five years ago I wrote about the Lego collection I put together and then let go. I guess there are topics I keep returning to, huh? The silly ones.

The Best Gift

I just noticed that today's Holidailies writing prompt is 'What is the best thing you ever received for the holidays?' I had just edited the picture above with the intent of using it for a piece with the boring title 'Shopping.' This is one of the 'jewel' windows at Berdorf Goodman in New York City. For the holidays they have little doll-like mannequins offsetting the jeweled baubles. Personally I don't have or want much jewelry but isn't this a lovely picture? Yours truly is reflected with her handy digital camera. One of probably six or seven digital cameras I've owned. None were gifts.

But one of my best gifts was a camera. I was in my teens and I was dying for a Polaroid Land Camera 100 with chrome and leather trim. You could get one for probably $120 1960's dollars. A lot of money. (A little inflation calculator I found indicated that it would probably be equivalent to around $900 today.) You could also get one for a bazillion books of S&H green stamps. My mom let me have her stash and I continued getting hers at the grocery store and pasting them in books. My grandmother gave me hers. I had nowhere near enough. I had maybe a dozen books. The camera required 40 or 50. My mom talked me out of the stamps, reasoning that other nice gifts could be obtained. I was crushed that I wouldn't get the camera. It was way out of range for a present back then. But on Christmas morning there it was. I took probably thousands of pictures with it. My folks gifted me portrait and close-up lenses. I was always using babysitting money for film.. My nieces, born in '68 and '70 after I was out of high school, were endlessly photographed with this camera and the originals and copies of these are cherished possessions around the family. (We used to mail the originals to Polaroid. On the adhesive backing they provided was an order form. They'd reprint the photo in different sizes.) Here's my youngest niece, just sitting up in 1970.

Yes the camera was wonderful and quite a coup to get and, unlike so many other things, the pleasure lasted a long time. I took it to college. I had it at the ready for many family gatherings. I'd stand there, posing people and then deftly snapping out the developing print and guarding it until it was dry. There was much chemical waste. And those flashbulbs that popped and crackled and heated up, only avoiding exploding fragments because of a plastic-like film over the glass. I kept the camera long after it was functional for sentimental reasons. When I downsized I gave it away to a Freecycle contact who wrote later that he'd repaired the bellows and made it work again. Of course, film is problematic although there is a group that bought Polaroid's factory machines and was attempting to make it available again.

But if the camera was my favorite gift, I'm pretty sure the Christmas when I was nine years old was my best overall Christmas coup. I wanted an Erector set. And I got the best one imaginable. It had an electric motor and it was the Rocket Launcher set and it had a picture of a 1950's little boy operating the rocket launcher he'd built. I was a wily little girl and when I picked this Erector Set out of the Sears catalog, I also picked a gift that would be considered educational and unisex: a metal world globe with little Disney characters in costume. And, yes, when we returned to school and were asked to say what we gotten for Christmas that we really liked (how politically and socially incorrect that would be these days) I talked about my new globe. I still have the Erector set. The globe went to a charity when I graduated from high school I think. I kind of miss owning it and still look on eBay for one now and then.

These days I don't want for anything. I don't have a Christmas list and, hopefully, I won't get too many presents. When I want something, I usually just buy it. While we were in NYC we looked in many shop windows but only entered a few stores. Our only purchases were two books at our favorite Manhattan indie bookstore. But I still remember the excitement of not having something, of wanting it for a long time and then finally receiving something that really did, in the end, please me to own. That's tough to achieve, I think.

Does This Room Make Me Look Fat?

I mentioned thid Tatzu Nishi art project surrounding the Columbus statue of the eponymous Columbus Circle  in New York City with a living room in an earlier post. You could climb up to it on several flights of stairs. When you got up there Chris dominated a room with couches, a flat screen TV, bookshelves with books, some other furniture and kitschy wallpaper depicting American iconic topics such as Mickey Mouse, hot dogs and baseball. 

I like things like this that change a place into an artwork. We made a special trip to see Christo and Jeanne-Claude's Gates in Central Park. When I first read about this opportunity to climb up here with Columbus it was to end in the middle of November. They extended it and we were able to see it, but it was only extended because of the disruption caused by super storm Sandy. Life is random, isn't it? And now...it's gone again, I believe, ending last weekend.

Home for the Holidailies

It's Day 5 of Hoidailies. I arrived back in Austin in the wee hours of this morning. But I managed to post four times while I was on a majorly decadent vacation in New York City. Will have to go back and see what those posts look like. The picture is a reflection of us in a Christmas display on Madison Avenue. We were headed to eat at one star Michelin meal restaurant The Modern.

It's nice to be home, of course. Disappointing that the maid won't be by to tidy up, but nice to have all your computers and tools and sartorial choices and stuff around. We stayed in a ridiculously expensive hotel. But no hotel will ever have the satellite system we have or the DVRs handy. Oh, sure there was a little TV imbedded in the bathroom mirror where you could watch CNN while you brushed your teeth. And the thread counts and mattress quality was over the moon. And the shower and tub beats ours big time. The maid would leave the TV on the smooth jazz station when she turned down the room, though. Ugh. And we love the la crema coffee the Nespresso machine made but we couldn't seem to get enough of the most robust pods to suit us. And when will they learn to bring us more hangers? (Although, to their credit they did detach from the rod! And they brought more when we asked.)

So...yeah, one day hotels will figure out how to make it just like home, only more so. Maybe. But I digress.

We are home for the holidays. FFP is very involved with Ballet Austin and its "Nutcracker" production this time of year. We've said yes to a few holiday parties. I will send some holiday cards. (And enjoy receiving some.) FFP and I will exchange presents. (He already got me one so I have to find something for him.) I don't think I'm going to do much decoration. Or serious celebration. Although the bendable, posable Santas and other Christmas figures may make an appearance if I feel like digging around in my storage cage. And we'll eat at some nice restaurants and wander through the hotels and see their decor.

I do look forward to some days when nothing is happening and I can sit down and read newspapers and books and take long walks around the neighborhood. We do plan to travel next year but we haven't made a single reservation. And, of course, my most hated time of the year looms after the holidays. Tax time.

Maybe I'll recount our NYC trip in the next few entries. It will bore you terrifically if you don't care for fine dining, jazz, museums, cabaret music, a Mamet play and strange NYC encounters.

Little Things

One thing I love about travel is the tiny observations and happenings that come your way. I need to post something now since tomorrow we have to pack up and travel back to Austin. So I'm going to just list a few of these things.

-- I love to take pictures of people looking at art or even shooting pictures of art. (As in the picture below of FFP and "The Scream.”) I didn't invent this. The NY Times runs photos of works in galleries with onlookers all the time. Still. It's interesting.

-- They have sidewalk Christmas tree lots in Manhattan. With some pretty big trees. I didn't notice this last year at this time when we visited. Not sure why. One of the New Yorkers we visited with was eager to buy one. She was going to have to buy in her own hood, though and get help to lug it home.

-- The cabs here have the shield number as a license plate number. Has it always been so? Why didn't I ever notice?

-- It seems that a lot of shoe stores are showing shoes with spikes like dog collars in the comics. But darned if I could spot any New Yorkers wearing such. I actually saw these spikes on a phone case in a shop window, too!

I am perhaps too easily entertained, right?

People

One of my favorite things about travel is people. Well, of course, you say. Who would want to arrive in New York or Paris and find lonely, empty streets with a few pieces of trash wafting in the wind?

So, yes, glad to see the cab drivers, bellmen, deliverymen, sales people, waiters, chefs, desk clerks, etc.

But I like meeting up with friends in a place I don't live. And I like meeting new people, travelers or strangers.

When we arrived in New York a little after noon last Tuesday, we had no plans or reservations until the next day. After getting checked into the hotel we got a table at Ai Fiori in our hotel and had a leisurely lunch with a glass of wine. We heard the people next to us talking about Austin. The guy left first and as the woman gathered her things and paid the bill FFP told her he couldn't help but overhear the conversation about our hometown. We knew several of the same people because she'd studied and worked in Austin. She lives in the residences above our hotel. We immediately became friends (FFP said he had seven or eight mutual Facebook friends with her when he connected later) and that evening she joined us, with her partner briefly, for drinks in the bar of the hotel. Also joining us was an artist friend who lives in Austin and Williamsburg in Brooklyn. We'd bumped into her and several other people we knew on the plane. So impromptu drinks, introducing a brand new friend to an old friend. Heaven to me.

We arranged meet-ups with other people this last week. Drinks with a couple who lived in our building but moved and now live in Phoenix and San Diego. They were just in New York to see lights and some shows. We had lunch, visited the Whitney and shopped the Upper East Side with another friend who lives in the Village and the Hamptons. We were joined by friends we've known for three decades who live in a suburb and some young Upper West Siders for brunch. We met up with Austin friends at a cabaret show at 54 Below. We dined twice with friends who live in New Jersey and were in the city. We had a nice talk with a friend who is a manager at a fine dining restaurant and she got us a peek at the kitchen. Tonight is her night off and we may meet for drinks.

And then there are the people you don't know. And never will. Yesterday we had brunch with friends in SoHo and saw a dance performance at the Joyce and dined at a favorite haunt in the Village and saw a jazz show at the Village Vanguard. It was all great fun, but I also enjoyed the time we spent having a drink perched in the window of a tiny Mexican restaurant watching people walk down 7th in the Village. What are they wearing? What are the carrying? Young? Old? Who might they be? Endless walk-on actors in life's movie.

Great shows and food. No excursion buses or trips to the top of the Empire State building. But the people!

The picture was shot by FFP on his iPhone. It is Dot, a lovely woman selling books at Crawford-Doyle Booksellers on the Upper East Side. Each trip we trek to this tiny, iconic store and, if we are lucky, Dot is working and contributes to the selection of a couple of books that we buy.

Life is Good

My Dad used to say "it's a good life if you don't weaken." I always took this to mean that fun took its toll, too, and required you to stay in shape. Later in life he did weaken and he had to restrict his drinking and didn't feel up to the travel he loved.

What I enjoy most in life is probably eating and drinking. Oh I love theater, jazz, ballet, museums, walking, people watching.

But it's the eating and drinking that will be most curtailed as the flesh weakens, I think.

So far, more or less, so good.

Last night we got to dine at the 50-year-old New York City Institution La Grenouille. Reservations are hard to get especially when folks are visiting for holiday shopping and viewing the decorations. Our friend is a regular and he got the reservation.

Intent on making our way through the dense holiday crowds ogling department store windows and the Rockefeller Center tree without being late to meet our friends, we arrived about fifteen minutes early. I ordered a Manhattan at the tiny bar in the beautiful room. (That's the picture below. I wouldn't be so touristy to bring a camera or take more fuzzy iPhone 3GS shots.) An older woman, speaking French, picked holiday baubles from a box on the bar. Turned out she was having a holiday dinner and I saw the gentlemen helping her carefully strew them on her eight top that was next to us.

The room, the service, the French food were all amazing. I didn't know if the restaurant itself would be a dowager, having seen better times but with aging patrons imbuing it with their former ideas of it. The patrons did seem to be aging but every detail of food and service was wonderful. I'd heard about this place forever and was thrilled to dine here and have the strength for some lovely wine (Duckhorn Merlot) and rich French organ meat dishes and even a soufflé.

I realize this is not everyone's life. I decided that I would not only write every day for holidays but would read other blogs from the Holidailies site. I know people struggle with budget limitations and physical ones. I know I'm lucky to have this time with money and some stamina. I remember when this wasn't my life. Sometimes I think it's all slipping away because it surely is doing so. For someone whose bucket list is mostly drawn from dining guides, this was definitely a check mark, though. It's a good life. You know. If you're up to it.

Been There, Done That, Got the Souvenirs, got Rid of Them

I'm on a trip to New York City. I like to travel or, actually, I like to be some place else, staying in a hotel, selfishly focused only on my own pleasure. I'm not crazy about airport security although I'm pretty tolerant of the getting there aspect of travel especially if there are no delays.

There was a time when I was checking places off my list. Seeing what was supposed to be seen. Now I'm happy to return to old haunts. To be reasonably familiar with a place. To walk past the guys hawking tickets to the Empire State building or bus tours and go to a favorite restaurant. I don't need to take home a T-Shirt, refrigerator magnet or a little replica of anything. Oh...I've done that. When we downsized some of my souvenirs were given away. Don't miss them.

The photo is taken from the 4th level of Time Warner Center looking at Columbus Circle. That's the statue of Columbus in fact. He is temporarily covered with a 'living room' which is accessible to the public. It's an art project by Tatzu Nishi called "Discovering Columbus."Today we have timed tickets to look the old Italian in the eye. It will be gone soon like Christo installations and the holiday windows we are enjoying on Fifth Avenue. I like photos that are stuck in a certain time although of timeless things.

Well, that's me for today trying to do Holidailies remotely. I love the old familiar feel of this Year's portal. Cheers to Jette and Chip. Last year when we visited NYC around this time we had a breakfast meet-up with Jette who was visiting, too. That's another thing I like about travel...meet-ups, planned and unplanned. More on that tomorrow perhaps. I have to go look Chris in the eye.

New York, NY

A temporary (?) sculpture of Andy Warhol. Near Union Square. Manhattan, New York City. I am testing the Blogger app on mu iPad. Expect something of more import in December.

Zoey: January 13, 1998-September 4, 2012

I called Zoey my god dog because I knew her all her life and her mom (owner) and I went on many adventures with my last dog, Chalow. When she was still a small pup with big feet, not yet grown into the regal yet goofy standard poodle she would become, she would plop down on her hindquarters during walks and look at us as if to say 'what are we doing?' Once she discovered squirrels and her legs grew out she pranced along, sometimes starting up every sidewalk or drive. She could jump up very high from a standing start and the huntress she felt she was tested the collar and lead when something would move in the bushes. The happy picture above is from 2002 with one of the many hairdos she sported over the years.

Here's her obituary from my friend:

As most of you know about a year ago Zoey was diagnosed with cancer. For the last year she has been taking an anti-cancer drug and Prednisone and has been doing fair. Over the past couple of weeks her back legs have been slipping out from under her more and more. Often I would actually have to lift her back up because she couldn't get traction on the hardwood floor. Sometimes she would shiver even when it wasn't cold which is a sign a dog might be in pain. She made valiant efforts to hide her weakening condition but several times I let her outside and would notice her just standing in the yard, not looking around, just standing. 

Recently it was so obvious that she was in decline that I finally decided to let her go. This past Tuesday, September 4, 2012, around 12:35pm I sat by her side while the vet gave her sedatives and she passed gently on. Zoey was born on January 13, 1998 so she was 14 years 7 months and 22 days old which is a pretty good run for a big dog. 

About 2 months ago I knew we were approaching the end because I opened the door to let her out and 5 feet in front of her was a squirrel on the ground. In her youth Zoey would leap off the top of 6 steps, pompomed tail in the air, running full blast across the yard trying to catch a squirrel 50 feet away and already half way up a tree. This time she leaned forward for a moment and I thought she were going to take off once more; but she stopped as if finally accepting that she wasn't going to catch this one either. She couldn't muster that last burst of energy to fly off the step and try for the 100th time in vain to catch a squirrel, so it was clear her joy of life had changed. In life she never succeeded, but I know all dogs go to heaven which is full of squirrels; and I hear they actually catch 'em. 

Rest in peace, Zoey Ray of Sunshine, Pedigreed Black Standard Poodle born in Gholson, Texas; one of a litter of 13 adopted at the age of 8 weeks old. Living life at full throttle for almost 15 years.

The Packing List Revelations

I'm getting ready to go on another trip. Not counting staycations (I think we did one of those, traveling about two miles and staying in a hotel for two nights) I have been on five trips this year and I'm heading out for another this week. Los Angeles, New Orleans (with a stop in Houston), Manhattan, the North Shore above Boston plus the Hamptons, Denver suburbs to visit family and now, this week, Portland, OR and environs. When I retired I thought it would be wonderful to travel without worrying about work. (In 2000, I went to Geneva, several places in Australia and Las Vegas for work in a short space of time. Probably made several other trips that year.)

I'm eager for this getaway to Oregon, a regular trip for us in August and one I look forward to all year long.

But another part of me is tired of pulling out the packing list and checking things off and organizing it all. Again.

The packing list.
At some point before that busy working 2000 year I decided to make a master packing list as a WORD document. The idea was that I'd copy it for each trip, edit it to eliminate things I wouldn't need for a trip, add special items and then check things off as I packed. As my life and the world evolved, of course, some things were added to or eliminated from the master list. The master list no longer calls out a PDA and spare stylus but does introduce the possibility of taking along a laptop, an iPod, an IPad and and iPhone or other cell. I've dropped off pantyhose and feminine sanitary supplies from the list. I no longer take a spare watch because, after all, doesn't every gadget tell time?

A few things are still on the list but get eliminated from the list almost every time: formal wear, robe (if the hotel doesn't have one, too bad), hair dryer (I try not to use one now and hotels usually have them). I almost never take our iPod either but sometimes it's a good thing to do.

A Downsizing Every Time
Most of us have too much stuff. But packing, particularly for a trip involving airlines, will focus one on what is really needed. If you can live on what's in that suitcase for a week or ten days, what do you really need?  I always sort of test myself out on whether I actually use everything I take. Of course, one gets a pass on emergency supplies. I always hope I don't need bandaids, Advil, stomach remedies, my tiny umbrella, spare credit cards and photo ID (kept separately from wallet), cough drops, stuff like that. But it's good to get home with almost all your under things and other clothing having been worn. If you took a book, you ought to have read it. My current dodge is to have reading material on the iPad and then to read one of the books FFP takes along. We always, always seem to visit a bookstore. And buy something. We buy papers along the way. We are never without something to read. But at home, of course, it's much worse with unread books, papers and magazines always threatening to topple from every surface.

If you have to carry it, you'll have less!

Always Take the Time-Tested
It's OK to take something new on a trip, I guess. (I'm bought a new carryon for this trip. And, yes, my packing list lists all the possible 'containers' that I might take.) But for clothes and shoes I like to take things I've comfortably worn at home. Walking shoes need to have at least fifty miles on them, preferably with some five mile stretches. Dress shoes need to have gone a few miles, too.

Money, Ticket, ID, Prescriptions
I don't take prescriptions. FFP does. The theory is that if you have money (and credit cards), your ID, tickets and prescription drugs that you can buy anything else. It's a reasonable theory, but FFP can't buy some things off the rack and it is tough for me to find clothes. Short sleeve shirts, polos, underwear, maybe shoes (but see above) could be replaced.

These days you'd be kind of lost without your smart phone. Or an iPad or something. Or both. But still, there are essentials and there are other things. We go on the plane wearing sturdy walkers, a decent shirt, nice jeans and a black blazer. Dress shoes are in the carryon (although FFP has come up with sturdy walkers that  also pass muster as dress shoes). I usually pack my dress shoes, a few under things and socks, a change of pants and shirt, prescription drugs, electronics and chargers, emergency stuff and tiny light umbrellas and lightweight anoraks in carry ons. We check one bag with more clothing, toiletries with liquids and sharps and such. I close the main compartment with a cable tie, cut off the end and place my trusty Swiss Army knife in the front pocket. If the inspectors (or thieves) open it, I'll know (unless they very carefully duplicate my cable tie color and trim). And if they steal the knife, I'll buy another. But I always have scissors, openers, etc. if my checked bag arrives.

Will You Remember What You Wore?
If the shoes hurt or you were cold or too warm, you might remember. If someone takes a photo of you, you might remember. I guess if you felt really out of place, then it might stick with you. But mostly if you were pretty comfortable, it's not what you remember about a trip. If someone takes a picture of me on a trip, I'm likely to be wearing...a black blazer!

A Trip to Regret
I am almost burned out from the traveling this year. The security lines, airline snafus, packing. But I have been trying for weeks to think of a trip I really regretted taking. Oh, there have been times I didn't mind leaving a place...to get home or go somewhere else. But later I never remember wishing I hadn't been there. I always saw something new, learned something new (sometimes about packing) or met some interesting person. So I'll keep on printing my list, packing and going.

Playing a Film Critic on Blogger

Well, it's goodbye to South By. There was a light show on Frost Bank during the festival (above). And we saw films. No music. No panels (not even film ones which we could have seen). Just screenings. Plus a brief walk throught the trade show and one non-SXSW party.

We went to six venues, all very close by foot: Alamo Ritz, Convention Center (Vimeo branded theater), Rollins at Long Center (Canon branded theater), Paramount, State (called 'Stateside' for some reason) and the Violet Crown. We saw plenty of strangeness on the streets, heard the dull roar from Auditorium Shores and other outdoor venues even from the inside of the condo. We retreated often to said condo for refreshment, rest and a few necessary chores.

I learned long ago that I'm not a good critic. Not of books, not of restaurants. (I'm always 'Wow. Best. Meal. Ever.' without the details of the ingredients. "I think there was foie gras and caviar in there somewhere....") Doubly so movies where I just watch and miss lots of things like homage to this film maker or political reference. I have to look up the people to see what else they've been a part of film-wise, otherwise. But, in spite of this failing, I like to recap the movies I saw. Let's just not call it criticism. This is mostly for me to remember when and where I saw something. But if you want to read along, especially if you like documentaries, feel free. Also, people are always asking what we did during the festival. Now I can give them a link.

These are the films. We bought badges early and 'only' paid about $17/per movie.

The movie: The Announcement

What it was about: Magic Johnson, especially his 1991 announcement that he had the HIV virus

Why we saw it: It was a documentary. The blurb made it sound fascinating as history. We'd been interested in the fight against HIV/Aids for a long time and that's our primary 'health and human services' cause.

What we thought after seeing it: Wow. Magic narrated the film! His wife gave some great and heartfelt interviews. We've come a long way in the fight but there is still lots of education needed. Man, he was the greatest basketball player ever. (Great game footage.) And: even he was met with discrimination. Very well-formed doc with a wide range of images from pre-announcement to modern day.

Where can you see it: Now playing on ESPN (it's an ESPN movie).

The movie: Jeff

What it was about: About Jeffrey Dahmer's arrest and its effect on the authorities and the community.

Why we saw it: It was a documentary. Forrest likes true crime especially when it explores the law enforcement puzzles and the effect of the crime on the community.

What we thought after seeing it: Use of re-enactment was unsettling but because they only used it to show interactions with people, um, alive to describe it, it was useful. The detective, Patrick Kennedy, was particularly upended by his involvement and his interviews were honest and direct.

Where can you see it: No idea, but maybe follow the WEB.

The movie: The Central Park Effect

What it was about: About the birds and bird watchers in Central Park.

Why we saw it: It was a documentary. We love NYC. A friend's uncle made the film.

What we thought after seeing it: A pitch perfect movie on this topic. Beautiful nature photography. Fantastic personal profiles. People were buzzing that Jonathan Franzen was in the movie, but we were actually more fascinated with some of the other bird watchers.

Where can you see it: Enter your e-mail here to find out.

The movie: Tchoupitoulas

What it was about: Documenting how a child sees New Orleans.

Why we saw it: It was a documentary (yes, we like docs) and we had previously enjoyed "45365" by the Ross brothers and they made this movie.

What we thought after seeing it: Achieved its goal. The children were charming, especially the youngest boy. Lots of meandering and handheld but great footage to dig into NOLA from a child's point of view. In the Q&A, the Ross brothers said they'd been in New Orleans as kids and tried to make this movie from a child's point of view. After the young brothers in the movie happened by the house where the Rosses were living in New Orleans one day, they chased them down and used them to focus the movie. With that touch, success. Without it, I'm not so sure.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: (really TV show premiere): Girls

What it was about: Four friends fighting to survive with their dreams in New York City in the confusing period between college and actual adulthood.

Why we saw it: We enjoyed the movie Lena Dunham made (Tiny Furniture) even though we couldn't relate to the character. (Having graduated college too many decades ago.) We'd been following her on Twitter since as she navigated the adventure of getting an HBO series. They showed three episodes for this SXSW screening.

What we thought after seeing it: A funny and poignant look at the way some young ladies live. Lena's character is self-deprecating and lovable. The other characters are of a type that you recognize. NYC locations fun, too. We'll probably watch it.

Where you can see it: HBO premiere April 15.

The movie: In Our Nature

What it was about: A father and his grown son show up to use a lake cabin with their girlfriends the same weekend. This was the first narrative piece we saw in the festival, apart from the TV sitcom. I'll bet some people only see narratives. This is why everyone's SXSW movie festival is so very different.

Why we saw it: FFP picked it from the description, I think, figuring it would be a character-driven piece. And it was to some degree.

What we thought after seeing it: What if Matt Saracen was Roger Sterling's kid instead of that guy running away from family responsibilities by joining the army, leaving the kid with a grandmother with dementia to care for? (In other words, Zach Gifford's role in "Friday Night Lights.") What if he'd grown up in relative privilege with that steamy, seething artistic nature? Oh, wait. Fiction. It is hard for me to separate the bad boy elder statesman of "Mad Men" and the artistic quarterback with the finely-tuned moral compass from the actors playing them. Not really. But they were almost playing the same characters only the youngster had more choices. He still steamed and seethed and longed to be creative. I honestly didn't get beyond my stereotypes for these characters and the ladies playing the girlfriends didn't really stand out in their roles either. Gabrielle Union convinced me she was pretty and young and a strong woman. I was never convinced she would partner with Roger, er, Gil, however.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Francine

What it was about: A woman is released from prison and tries to find a comfortable place in the world.

Why we saw it: I think FFP chose it because Melissa Leo was in it. In the future, however, we may choose films because Brian M. Cassidy and Melanie Shatzky wrote or directed them.

What we thought after seeing it: Immediately after seeing it I was nonplussed. I wanted to know why this woman had gone to prison in the first place. I was puzzled about her behavior. I wanted more things explained. I think both FFP and I came to see the piece eventually as it was intended. You were supposed to be outside the woman's experience. She was not going to explain herself to you. But you eventually realized that she required confinement and a certain kind of authority. I was reminded of the film "Temple Grandin" and the way the eponymous title character discovered ways of confinement that calmed animals and also herself as an autistic person.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Trash Dance

What it was about: A choreographer, Allison Orr, decides to do a dance piece with employees of the Austin Solid Waste Department and their machinery.

Why we saw it: It's a documentary and it was getting a lot of buzz from people we met in lines and it was Austin stuff.

What we thought after seeing it: It did a great job letting us get to know the people who provide this service. It really did seem like dance. Perhaps the performance itself, as presented in the movie, was a little more tedious than the rest of the movie, but this one is something different. Original music by Graham Reynolds, now Austin's treasured composer, didn't hurt. It made me understand my youngest great nephew who is five and is (or was fairly recently) completely transfixed by the guys who pick up the trash at his house.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Slacker 2011

What it was about: Random encounters in Austin, Texas directed scene by scene by 24 directors with a script following Richard Linklater's orginal "Slacker".

Why we saw it: We had missed seeing this in the screenings Austin Film Society had. We saw the original at the Paramount with much of the cast of that one. We like seeing Austin scenes even though the jump cuts from place to place (in both films) are disorienting.

What we thought after seeing it: Enjoyed seeing the places around town. Including a corner just outside of our place. But the original is the original.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: The Last Fall

What it was about: A narrative about an NFL player toiling at the edge of the sport who is cut and goes home to confront the possibility of life after football.

Why we saw it: The plot seemed a bit different.

What we thought after seeing it: A little bit of soap opera but not too bad an effort. It was more about family and truly growing up than football which was a good thing. The movie was haunted by the death of the film maker's parents a little bit. (His mother, who died in May, was given a dedication. He indicated before this showing that he'd just found out his father had died.) Matthew Cheery (writer, director, etc.) obviously has a talent for film and I would take a chance on another of his works.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Beauty is Embarrassing

What it was about: A documentary about artist, animator, puppeteer, sculptor Wayne White.

Why we saw it: Love docs. Love docs about artists.

What we thought after seeing it: Loved it. Great footage of a variety of work. Interesting family perspective (of both Wayne's wife, Mimi Pond, and their kids and Wayne's parents). Pee Wee Herman a plus, too.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Searching for Sugar Man

What it was about: A documentary about a seventies folk rocker, Sixto Rodriguez, and his unlikely fame far away from his Detroit life.

Why we saw it: Love docs. Heavily recommended by someone in line.

What we thought after seeing it: A most amazing film, presented like a mystery story and enhanced by the wonderful, forgotten (in the U.S.) music. See it. Buy the tunes. I loved the Cape Town footage, too.

Where can you see it: After a breakout success at Sundance, Sony Classics picked up. Watch for a theatrical release. I would watch it again.

The movie: Mustafa's Sweet Dreams

What it was about: Allegedly a documentary about a kid who wants to master making baklava.

Why we saw it: We like docs. Seemed like this one might be something different.

What we thought after seeing it: We thought this was our worst choice of the festival. It didn't seem like a documentary. It was boring and did not ring true. The camera work on the making of the baklava was the best part. There was a little expose of the child labor and misogynistic attitudes around the story but it read, in the end, like an after school special and not a very good one and certainly not a documentary.

Where can you see it: No clue. And don't recommend it.

The movie: Under African Skies

What it was about: A documentary about Paul Simon and his collaborations with South African musicians.

Why we saw it: We like docs. I'm interested in South Africa. We like Graceland.

What we thought after seeing it: Good job of documenting the music (album, performances) and the players (musicians as well as politicians and activists) and the history. I saw Mariam Mekeba live on my 2005 visit to Cape Town before her death (2008). Would have been stellar if she'd been alive for the reunion tour.

Where can you see it: No idea, but watch for it.

The movie: Brooklyn Castle

What it was about: A Brooklyn school has a tremendous chess program which enriches the lives of students struggling to break out of poverty and attend good high schools and get into college.

Why we saw it: We like docs. Though childless, we are interested in helping groups that provide enhancement to public education.

What we thought after seeing it: Enjoyed 'meeting' the kids and the teachers. Thought the pace was a little contemplative but, well, it was about chess!

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Sunset Strip

What it was about: The history of the clubs and lives along Sunset Boulevard in the area between Beverly Hills and Hollywood know as "the Strip".

Why we saw it: We like docs. We'd just been to LA and, in fact, stayed a block from the Whiskey A Go Go.

What we thought after seeing it: Great survey. Coup getting all these people on film and all archival stuff.

Where can you see it: No clue.

The movie: Gregory Crewdson, Brief Encounters

What it was about: Documenting art photographer Gregory Crewdson staging his large narrative photos.

Why we saw it: We like docs. We like docs about artists. While in LA, FFP had picked up a book of these photos and marveled at them when we visited a great indie store, Book Soup. Before that, we'd never heard of Gregory. We couldn't believe our luck when we saw this in the SXSW schedule.

What we thought after seeing it: Fantastic doc of the process. After a lot of handheld camera work showing the settings, setup, all the set decoration and direction I loved it when the camera lingered over the high quality still print.

Where can you see it: No clue. But if you get a chance do see it.

Yep, that was our SXSW 2012. We only regretted one choice. We learned about some music and art we weren't that familiar with and met fascinating people (several in line waiting to see shows). In fact, in line we met a woman who had interests similar to mine about WWII and who had actually written a screenplay. I've already been privileged to read that. I bought a Rodriguez album on my iPhone. And we think we will buy Gregory Crewdson's book over at Book People. We are culturally enhanced, I guess.

Curating a Life

I am fascinated by those collections at places like Harry Ransom Center at UT where all the books, papers, manuscripts, ephemera and claptrap of a life is carefully handled (with white gloves), organized, indexed and stored in acid-free boxes and such. That's the treatment someone like Norman Mailer gets. I would call to your attention that the center has perserved the invitations and attendance list for his fiftieth birthday party. I myself have ephemera from my fiftieth birthday party. But I doubt it will ever be curated.

For most of us, if we don't curate our lives then no one will. On the other hand, who will actually care about it but us? Even if I had kids I don't think they would care. So what's the point? Does it matter that you can't remember where you were twenty years ago or what unpublished writings you were creating? Does it matter that many of your photos are unlabeled and the people and places in them unidentified. What has even been the point of keeping old photos and computer files of writing and digital photos and scans of tickets and souvenirs and thousands of emails? Indeed, I've made a great effort to keep the stuff even if I haven't done much to preserve it from harm. The computer files have been copied and preserved through so many hard drive failures and computer decommissions that I've lost track.

Still I have this desire to organize it and have decided to spend a little time on it each day. It will, of course, be another forgotten project after a while. Perhaps there will be little lists on the computer and notes on paper to commemorate the effort (and cry out to themselves be archived).

[Today's picture is a shop window self-portrait taken at Uncommon Objects in 2008.]

Danger!

The world is full of danger. It's much safer here in Austin, Texas than in, say, the Syrian city of Homs where two journalists were killed today. But Sunday a driver under the influence of something jumped the curb and killed a man and critically injured a woman on Guadalupe a couple of miles from here. We are hyper-alert when we walk, but danger always comes out of left field, doesn't it?

I find I'm in the best mood when I don't over think being safe and just accept that death and/or destruction will find me. One just has to do the best one can to stay safe and healthy and then just admire the way the world operates. Randomly within limits we don't always understand. When I realize how safe I am and yet how each and everyone and every thing is vulnerable, I can embrace the little delights like shop window photos, meals, museums and the people around me with the respect they deserve.

And to think...I haven't even read the obituaries today.

[Today's photo is a reflection on SoCo at the Parts and Labor store with the logo of Shark Attack Media.]

Do What You Please

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye, Friend

Sunset came on January 20, 2012 for my dear friend Charles Gentry. His obituary is here. On facebook there are scores of pictures and he's hugging someone in almost every one.

My thoughts on my friend:

Charles came into our lives as an exuberant participant in charity events, but I really got to know him when he needed a little help from his friends. After his brain injury he went through therapy and he lived in Tarrytown where only a few things were within walking distance for him. Somehow we fell into a habit of having lunch every month or so. He would bring along a notebook and write down things we talked about. He said his cognitive therapist recommended it as a way to work on memory and such. I know a lot of people were picking him up and taking him to appointments and exercise classes. My contribution to helping him through that time was small. But one thing that struck me is how he didn’t mind asking for help and he made you glad to give it, but he never felt sorry for himself or doubted that he would be able to return the favors one day.

One day we were going to lunch and he told me that he’d had all this time on his hands so he’d decided to clean out his closet and he had a lot of stuff to take to Top Drawer. (A thrift store supporting Project Transitions, a charity we both supported.) I volunteered to borrow my dad’s van and take his stuff to the store on our excursion and told him I thought I’d just bring my dad along for lunch, too. I remember how appreciative he was and how he made my dad feel his gratitude. (Dad also purloined a couple of things, including a large sack of bird seed.) I’m guessing Charles was planning a downsizing and a move to downtown even then. When we all moved to the 360, Charles and other friends and Forrest and I reveled in our ‘neighborhood’ and he never failed to exalt the glories of the downtown lifestyle when we’d go to lunch or we’d be at a party or even when we just randomly bumped into each other. He was living his dream and he always reminded me that we were, too.

We promised to take care of each other. When I found out what had happened to Charles, I initially felt I hadn't done my job. Then I realized that we really had taken care of each other. It’s sad that Charles’ journey went no further but I believe we all contributed to his life after his recovery -- because he let us in to do it. And he contributed to our community and took care of us, too; not least by making us see some true things about life and death.

I have been struck at how many people felt so close to Charles. We invited Charles to events, he and I had lunch dates and he threw parties and invited us. We weren’t the kind of friends who saw each other almost daily (and he had those). But everyone in his orbit has expressed how much they felt he cared for them. Because when we got together he gushed with enthusiasm that we’d met up and that he got to see us and that we were on this earth at the same time and the same place. Which is really what friendship is all about.

In My Head

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

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

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

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

Who Are You Again? And I?

[Photo at a Shop called Howl on South Lamar.]

When you reach the ripe old age of (insert mumbling dissembling here) you have met a lot of people. They have crossed your path in classes, at work, at play, at events, in your neighborhood, at clubs and bars. Some are family or close enough. Some are family of friends or people you met on trips or through random connections (e.g. social media). They are friends of friends or people you met a degree or two or more away from the initial friend.

If you are like me, you keep up with this crew in various ways. In your head, of course, in that compartment labeled 'people I know.' This mental database contains a lot of people who might actually know you and also the 'famous' (locally or otherwise) who have little chance of recalling who you might be. This jumbled mess is the reason that when I'm trying to remember a friend whose first name is, say, Robert, that a chef's last name or a movie star's might appear in what is my slow-moving train of thought.

My husband has two large Rolodex wheels crammed full of cards, many with business cards attached, others scribbled on. Many times he retrieves precious info from this gadget. Of course, I'm betting there are names and info for people he has completely forgotten, too.

My major contact list is in the form of a computer data base. Currently in a Microsoft Access file, it's been in at least two other computer data base forms (one was, I believe, managed by a data base program called, strangely, Paradox). This data base has been converted, updated and columns added over a long and tangled life. When I first designed the columns...I didn't include 'email' as a heading but resorted to typing them into 'comments' for a long while and I've never added a cell phone column, just putting the cell phone into comments when people had both and now, of course, just putting cell phone into the phone column now that many don't have a land line. When arranging big events, I added columns for 'adult count' and 'kid count' and 'hotel/air.' I added some columns along the way to aid selection for mail/merge like 'XMAS' and 'TEMP.' The thing is a hot mess but a very important data base to me and because I'm too lazy to convert it again, I've had to buy new versions of Access (or Office Professional) along the way.

Of course I have contact information collected in phones and e-mail programs, too. I had the same cell phone for a decade from Sprint. I once typed all the contacts in it into a word document. I saved this in an Evernote (a program that allows you to have notes to yourself in browsers and on gadgets). The iPhone conveniently offers to call the things that look like phone numbers. Gradually some of these are added to my iPhone contact list which is, however, pretty short because really who phones people any longer? And I'm not really into texting either.

Then there are people (and groups) that I 'follow' or have listed as 'friends' or 'professional contacts' or have placed in 'circles' on social media.

There is overlap in all these databases from the mental to the modern social media. I also confess to having found a few printed phone lists the other day from jobs I had which I've never thrown away because they help me remember who these co-workers actually were. Or their names anyway.

There are people in that mental data base who've never made it to any real contact list and who aren't on social media (or not connected with me there). I might say 'hi' to these folks, I might have even had dinner with them, worked closely with them on something or sat through meetings for some charity. But I couldn't come up with an address or phone number on a bet. (Although phone books and Internet searches might do it. And private clubs we belong to have directories.)

I added three columns to the computer data base the other day. One to try to summarize how I came to know the person at first point of contact and one to rate the likelihood of ever communicating with them again. Then a third to describe what the current relationship is. There were a number of people in there who, honestly, I don't have any idea who they are. I should have put a comment in when I added them. I know that a few were friends of my dad's mostly and that I added them to this database to invite people to his 90th birthday party a few years ago. I should probably just delete the names but couldn't bring myself to do it. Some I knew pretty well myself through him and I've had to weed out the ones who died. Every year during holidays or while selecting names for a party list, I delete the dead people. Sometimes you just wipe out the line. Sometimes you have to remove the name of one half of a couple. Just a few days ago I had word that someone died. I found that I didn't have a snail mail address for a sympathy card. This couple had moved around and even though I'd been to an event at one house they had I had zero points of contact in my head or elsewhere. Only the dead person in the couple was on social media. There has been lots of press about what happens to people's social media feeds when they die. I don't really find it morbid or weird or anything myself. What's the difference between that and a hand-written Christmas card list? We got a Christmas card in my in-laws mail for both of them during the holidays. He died in January and she died in November. Someone didn't get the word. Anyway, we found the address for our sympathy card (where this digression started) by e-mailing a friend who we knew was close to the surviving partner.

That's one reason I like being on people's Christmas card lists: you keep up with their addresses. When I receive holiday cards, thank-you notes or invitations, I always pull up my data base and double check the address, spelling of names, zip codes etc.

But...life goes on. People enter and exit. And they don't always exit by dying. Sometimes we just never see them again. Sometimes that's how we'd wish it, sometimes not. You just sort of never know, especially about casual friends and acquaintances.

I began this digression several weeks ago. Since then a friend who lived here in the high rise died. The enormous number of connections he had and we had with him came into sharp relief. And there's his record in my database, his number on my phone. Eliminating them is too fraught today. Another time. And when I attend a memorial for him that's coming up I'll look around and realize how his connections overlap with mine in unexpected ways and also wonder more than once "what's that person's name?" and "are they in my database?"

When I started writing this it wasn't about death. And really, it's still not. But as with everything else, death has a way of sneaking into every conversation and changing all the parameters.

Travel Looms

As soon as we get a piece of info about scheduling some medical tests we are going to assume that we can book some trips. Getaways. Fun. See new things. Revisit places we love. "New York and Portland [OR] are givens," said himself who is now a partner in pretty much all my travels.We'd considered taking a cruise some time, too. We'd even casually talked about doing one with another retired couple. We knew someone who was on the Costa Concordia (he and his companion got off unhurt). Gives you pause. I am a big believer in travel insurance and giving yourself a lot of options (taking spare glasses and your prescription; putting money, passports, credit cards in different places and one on your person if possible). But I don't think sinking ships or news of natural disasters or terrorists will keep us from traveling. We won't be going to the world's more dangerous places, of course.

We have even started blocking out some times and refusing to make plans for local events during those times.

I've always been a big fan of travel myself. When I traveled for business, I almost always found some time to do some sightseeing. When himself still worked his small business and wouldn't be gone for too long, we'd do long weekends and I'd go for longer trips with friends or meeting up with them and more or less going on my own. When I was a mere twenty-four years old I quit a perfectly good job and went to Europe armed with a Eurail Pass and a desire to see places that seemed impossibly far away during my impecunious childhood and college years. I've never regretted it.

So Bon Voyage to me. Multiple good trips. I hope. And even if something bad happens...well, if you don't survive...what a way to go. And if you do...what a story.

Is there a Draft? Do I Measure Up?

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

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

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

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

Where To Begin

After a long pause, I finally got around to writing a blog entry on Monday, November 14. I felt a bit adrift then. We were planning a little celebration (of our first date) with some friends. We had a trip to New York scheduled. (Which we took December 5-12. The above picture is our multiple reflections in one of the Bloomingdale Christmas windows.) I couldn't decide what, if anything to do about Christmas and the holidays. Whether to send cards, buy presents for anyone.

On November 16 my mother-in-law died. (The events of that day are somewhat interesting. See Forrest's description here.) That capped off a year and a half during which Forrest had a cancer scare and two surgeries; my dad died; his dad died; I disposed of my Dad's estate; he handled his dad's; and his mother died, leaving us parent-less. Then we begin disposing of his mother's estate.

There were three services, burials and such to arrange during what seemed like such a short time. There were fiduciary duties. There were (mercifully short) trips to MD Anderson, times in hospitals here. Three ambulance rides at the end for parents. Through it all we were very 'lucky.' Lucky FFP's cancer has apparently not spread. Lucky our parents didn't suffer too long. (My mother died in 2002 and, sadly, she did suffer a lot longer than I would have liked. My dad, of course, had his share of problems in the last few years.). But still. We were lucky. We had the money to handle things, for me to retire and take care of things for Dad after mother died. For Forrest to retire. We had time to see my dad through some trouble, to look after some things for his parents. We have the money now to not worry about money but just do what needs to be done with houses and stuff and all that.

Lucky or not, things are different. I realized after my dad died that I'd stayed young (in my own mind) and exuded confidence that I could take care of things trying to help him through his old age. Forrest did most of the things for his mom but her presence made me feel younger. Because she needed us, didn't she? Because we were young and strong and capable, right?

Now we can arrange to travel and not worry about what parental difficulties may arise at home. But, of course, we may find ourselves in difficulties. Can't really escape that.

We have kind of sleep-walked through the last six weeks. We went on with our schedule after a few days of handling my mother-in-law's services. We cleaned the valuables and mementos out of the house. We drifted through Christmas. I finally printed a few cards and sent them post-Christmas. We had a fancy dinner with friends on Christmas Eve and we were invited to a family gathering with someone else's family for Christmas Day. I didn't buy any presents except hostess gifts. FFP and I bought whatever we wanted and I sent money to my nieces and sister.

Now I wake up and it is 2012 and I'm vacillating between wanting to make some changes (blog, write my novel, exercise more, socialize with people, travel here, travel there, get rid of stuff, get new stuff) and wanting to roll down the shutters and be a recluse, changing as little as possible and buying nothing.

Where will I go with it? Will the blog record the journey or will I go back inside my head? Too early to tell. Going through old blog entries for the links in this entry make me realize that sometimes it does help just to write it down.

Om My Walk

Life is so complicated these days that you have to leave home to relax. Get in the theater with your smart phone politely silenced and put in your pocket, concentrate on the production for a couple of hours. Go on a walk where you have to watch the ground for things to trip on and watch for cars or bikes that might collide with you, focus only on what's really nearby and what's in your head.

Even driving there is so much input as you whiz by things. Walking is the best way to relax and concentrate your attention. On a walk you can clearly see the litter, the dead animals, the details on houses and businesses. You can stop and window shop. Maybe look at antiques on the east side (as above). I get my camera out and shoot a picture or two, but at home I'm often looking at slides shows of years of pictures. (I know, I know.) If I watch TV I'm always reading as well, usually a stack of newspapers. I will skip over to e-mail, check Twitter, feeds and facebook and get distracted by linking to interesting stuff. Mostly I think of things I should do: pay a bill, plan some event, organize something, clean something. Can't do that if you are out putting one foot in front of the other.

I have thought of working on a novel while sitting at my computer and have even written a few words of it. But in my head, on my walks, I have meditated my way to the end of the novel. Not all the characters have names but the arcs through time are there, a completely invented world over decades, pretty well worked out. It will never be committed to paper, though, because I'd have to sit at home, with all the distractions, and type it up. Just glancing up at the bookshelf threatens to take me away. On a walk there are plenty of distractions but they come at you slow and give you to time to think, to create, mantra or not.

Speak, Memory

One of my ongoing agonies is a lack of an accurate record of where I've been, what I've done, how far I've walked and what I ate. A blog is one way to keep up with stuff like that. I haven't posted here since May. So, yeah, that's not working. Oh I've tweeted. Posted pictures of Austin daily. And perhaps scribbled in a notebook or private little logging app. But my life and my history and the history of our time here is essentially getting lost faster than I care to ponder. Not that my life that important. No, it's really not.

But as the anniversary of 9/11 approaches you wonder what you were thinking then. In ten years, I might wonder what I was doing as Texas tried to burn down around me.

I used to organize a daily journal. Online. And I spent considerable time scribbling in notebooks. Notebooks I still have somewhere or have transcribed into (probably lost) files on the computer.

Given all the disasters that abound these days and my good luck (so far) at dodging them, it is interesting what I wrote on 9/13/2001:

Either the molds or the cumulative feeling of helplessness, is making me sick. I take some Dimetapp, drink Sleepy Time Tea and eschew alcohol and caffeine and try to get a good night's sleep. I'm such a wimp. What if something had actually happened to me?

I'm happy to be able to look at my situation and see how lucky I really am. That nothing really significant has touched me. My planes stayed in the air, the 1981 flood didn't reach the house and when I've stumbled on paths near precipices I've been spared the short acceleration to the rocks at the bottom.

But the memory thing. Where was I with that?

What sparks memory anyway? Why do I forget what happened in a tennis game just seconds before and then suddenly say "oh, yeah, passed down the line" or "sailed my overhead volley out." Or never remember at all. Why do pictures evoke an experience for us, even come to represent it totally? Why is everything happening so fast that we can't really record it? Does it help or hurt that all our social media contacts are out there connecting us to people, places, events and ideas we can't embrace ourselves?

I started thinking about writing this ramble one day when I was thinking about things I saw on the hike and bike trail. I heard these two guys talking. One said something like "Do your kids spend a lot of time at your house?" I was going to write it down or tweet it later and then I thought: were they running or riding bikes? Weird. Absent that detail from memory it stopped me in my tracks. On subsequent trail walks, I tried to remember a few encounters more accurately. But still they were missing pieces. Today I saw a pair of small poodles. But I don't remember who was running with them. I saw the Indian chief (a bronzed, bare-chested guy with his gray hair in braids) but I couldn't tell you what kind of shorts he wore. I saw an Old English sheepdog but don't remember the person with him (or was it a she dog?). I do think the owner was female. I heard a guy say into his phone: "Do you know how valuable that is?" It was a man, looked like a businessman, tall. But I don't remember much else about hin. Things are remembered but many more things are lost.

In yesterday's NY Times Science Times there was an article on the development of the memory process. It shows that children develop memories but have trouble retrieving the source of the memory. I empathized with the children in this test. I know I saw something, but when??? Maybe this is why I can't play Bridge well. You have to remember the bidding, the hand being played. It's a blur for me with all the other hands, other times. Maybe I have a child brain. I wonder if I can develop a way to remember things in a better way in my twilight years?

Clearly, it's not possible to make an adequate record of things external to oneself and use that as a crutch. Sure I saved some info from 9/11/2001 but by that very act it almost becomes everything I remember.

I cadged the title for today's piece from a memoir collection by Vladimir Nabokov. And I will use a quote from him to address my final worry about memory and its incompleteness and usefulness. I worry that if I use real things in fiction (which I, of course, never write or at least never complete) that it will rob the thing of some truthfulness. Here's my parting quote:

I have often noticed that after I had bestowed on the characters of my novels some treasured item of my past, it would pine away in the artificial world where I had so abruptly placed it. Although it lingered on in my mind, its personal warmth, its retrospective appeal had gone and, presently, it became more closely identified with my novel than with my former self, where it had seemed to be so safe from the intrusion of the artist.

And so it goes. Another reason not to write 'my' fiction: I would lose even more of my real past!

We may discuss this memory thing, further, lads and lasses, but I've decided to hit publish. Shocking, I know. Perhaps it will not be another three months.