LB's Christmas Shopping Guide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Really Just the Smallest Things

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

It never satisfies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Guide to the Visible Woman

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Economics of Stuff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should I Practice or Save It?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Turkey Dies for Us

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

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

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

Yeah, that's Thanksgiving in our family.

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

Holidailies

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

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

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

E.A.S.T.ern Art

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

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

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

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

Where Does My Time Go?

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

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

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

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

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

Winnowing the Stuff

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

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

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

Chilly

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

The picture was taken on South Congress the other night.

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

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

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

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

Scary

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

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

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

eXtreme dog walking and urban adventuring

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot Stuff

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

Let Others Blog!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's More Where That Came From

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

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

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

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

I Don't Read Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daily Photo

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

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

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

And so it goes.

In the Shadow of the Creatives

I fancy myself a creative person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Growing Old

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

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

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

Yeah, that's how it always ends.

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

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

And, well, that's how it ends.