Scary

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

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

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

eXtreme dog walking and urban adventuring

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot Stuff

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

Let Others Blog!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's More Where That Came From

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

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

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

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

I Don't Read Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daily Photo

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

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

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

And so it goes.

In the Shadow of the Creatives

I fancy myself a creative person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Growing Old

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

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

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

Yeah, that's how it always ends.

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

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

And, well, that's how it ends.

Top Ten Reasons for Moving to Downtown Austin

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

9. The mussels at Capitol Brasserie.

8. Mercury Design Studio.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Airport Trip Seven Complete

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, what should I worry about now?

Well...That's Almost Over!

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

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

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

I Haven't Been Writing

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

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

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

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

In Case You Haven't Been Flying

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Good at Posting

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

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

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

I Should be Working on it NOW

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

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

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

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

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

Moving in the Right Direction, Stuff-Wise

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

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

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

The Dilettante Collector

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've Been Busy Since Last We Spoke

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

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

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

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

Are You a Blogger or Not?

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

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

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

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

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

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