tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-230698832024-03-15T20:10:25.054-05:00Visible WomanLinda Ballhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12417535881100246975noreply@blogger.comBlogger972125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-82057823049037109792023-02-17T15:08:00.003-06:002023-09-14T13:07:34.234-05:00Bags and Rags...<p>and maybe boxes, too. That ratty dish towel or maybe an old bath towel. An undershirt with holes. You hate to throw away a good rag. That perfectly good grocery bag. That cloth tote. That old briefcase or backpack you used to carry. You could put things inside it. And carry it. And of course here's a great box, a perfect size for, well, something. A bunch of giveaway First and Business class toiletry kits. Some with tiny tubes of toothpaste or other toiletries. It's hard to part with things that could be useful in a pinch. They put pens in those freebie bags (using the term loosely, those seats on the plane are expensive). How many pens do we have around here? How many actually still have ink?</p><p>Sometimes I think I will have reduced my possessions to just these things. Rags for just in case and containers with nothing in them. Or some miscellaneous possibly useless things. And supplies of pens and staples and paper goods. A giant bag of rubber bands, gradually hardening and cracking.</p><p>Oh and masks. I still wear one in our elevators at my high rise when I remember. But I have settled on one kind: a disposable KN95. So there are a bunch around of other types. But I should keep them just in case. Right?</p><p>I suppose, really, if you could whittle things down to the essentials then it wouldn't be so bad to have supplies of "just in case" stuff. (Yeah, I have bottles of water, too.) Instead, I also have clothes I don't wear, books and magazines I've read (and lots I haven't), and a lot of CDs and DVDs. I did purge a bunch of CDs to the thrift store but kept a lot of jazz ones because I like to look at the liner notes. Or even play them directly instead of off my old, ahem, iPod! And we have collections. Glassware, paintings, geegaws, etc. But more on that later.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-46302510858528025242023-01-31T12:52:00.003-06:002023-01-31T12:52:56.820-06:00Memories...in T-Shirts<p>One day I was looking for an Armadillo World Headquarters T-Shirt. It was purchased around 2013 when we had a party celebrating the anniversary of our first date. The AWH had been out of business for many years (1980) but the T-Shirts survived at Threadgill's Restaurant (both locations are now gone). Many memories surround both the original venue and the restaurant. We had our first date on Thanksgiving Night in 1975 at the Armadillo. We saw Marcia Ball and the Misery Brothers there that night. (We hired Marcia's current band for our party, too.) </p><p>I was looking for the shirt because of a party we were invited to that celebrated the 50th Anniversary of some friends. We were instructed to dress like the '70s so I chose worn-out denim jeans and this T-Shirt marking an iconic Austin '70s spot with a denim shirt and a few pins. </p><p>I have tried to get rid of T-Shirts but there are a dozen or more in my drawers. Some evoke memories, and some are merely good to throw on to cover the body for cleaning or exercising. I keep a lot of things because they would be good to wear to do some dirty work or in a pinch. As my hiking boots wear out, inside and out, I replace them, but, in a pinch, the old ones would do for a comfortable water-resistant, and stable pair. They don't hold memories as much as the T-Shirts. But some do. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTL0ORpuye6aaI0By-SPXrNZGdHbx4LGhti8os5GjN_RXoG7Dl2OYv8eYxQusvOUo5B_owVA1roaqtTOm_a6PG01BY9817lGfP-erZwR3K6ilYtzaOO3zu29uS4Bb_AIiwLRHVnFtdt1T5GcAksltLjAqCxZLAGod5dehujZXmtHgitRztmU/s2048/IMG_5423.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTL0ORpuye6aaI0By-SPXrNZGdHbx4LGhti8os5GjN_RXoG7Dl2OYv8eYxQusvOUo5B_owVA1roaqtTOm_a6PG01BY9817lGfP-erZwR3K6ilYtzaOO3zu29uS4Bb_AIiwLRHVnFtdt1T5GcAksltLjAqCxZLAGod5dehujZXmtHgitRztmU/s320/IMG_5423.JPEG" width="240" /></a></div>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-72948439187438191062023-01-26T16:14:00.003-06:002023-01-28T13:58:52.220-06:00If I were to write a memoir...<p> I'd like to know what approach I'd take. Chronological? By topic? (Relationships, influences from people and events, objects, school experiences, jobs, attire and hairstyle, trips.) More spaced-out stream of consciousness? Sometimes I think I should write something like "my life in x objects." The other day, after finally shutting off a landline I've had for almost fifteen years, I filled a large sack with wired phones and portable phone connection gadgets. Many such phones have passed through my hands, including some with rotary dials.</p><p>I've decided to spend a few minutes a day pondering these questions. Because, if I'm ever going to write a memoir, I should start thinking about it! I will have my diamond jubilee this year.</p><p>Last year I reviewed some old paper journals and notes (from September through early December 1972) when I went off to tramp around Europe with a Eurail Pass and no reservations. I chronicled this a bit on Facebook and some of my (few) followers were amused. I was surprised by some of the thoughts and activities I'd written down but didn't remember thinking or doing. There are a few "artifacts" of that trip remaining. A lambswool scarf I bought and still have and wear. An acrylic lap blanket celebrating the 1972 Olympics. (Which I didn't attend. I arrived in Munich a bit after the event. I think I bought the blanket at a factory doing a close-out that some friends discovered.) Somewhere there is an Oktoberfest poster. (I did attend that.) Memories in things. There are some old ticket stubs and maps in a box somewhere. Some were scanned. See below. That trip had a lasting impression on me and formed me in many ways. I'm not in contact with any of the people I met during that journey, but some were definitely an influence on me. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSKVod0oCVmQEXwkSjog0fJeR75iRB2DMXV9PxJxW75aYtOYz1o4YnlW44pT522YATPpCm0TlS6kF-gVcyxILMeNRjeWNWgiTXI66s7vC_U-h3ofxvJyUOEPv9Zxnmr0SuFtndkszaeEYJx2V8PyH8jJgVoBvZcDYc1KDmaHxvnWF240RLVcY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="544" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSKVod0oCVmQEXwkSjog0fJeR75iRB2DMXV9PxJxW75aYtOYz1o4YnlW44pT522YATPpCm0TlS6kF-gVcyxILMeNRjeWNWgiTXI66s7vC_U-h3ofxvJyUOEPv9Zxnmr0SuFtndkszaeEYJx2V8PyH8jJgVoBvZcDYc1KDmaHxvnWF240RLVcY" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-81997509629373423962022-01-03T13:06:00.002-06:002022-01-03T13:08:26.653-06:00Holiday Cards<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6ItBC3QMVh3e7s_nCVjeZkEG_ilCVGfUmUt7oc2T2n6Tpe9GcxhRspIMwtrFYrlqXNvdcCPbXRjiIxWzA8wjdg86PihYpUrFcual4pFT6FJo8YSNXrQKdUAC7ZqFTCY2z4yOEBfmzMyfZj4bQp57JixEWpHzEkD_4FJVSCduOElEJiaZjvpk=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="457" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6ItBC3QMVh3e7s_nCVjeZkEG_ilCVGfUmUt7oc2T2n6Tpe9GcxhRspIMwtrFYrlqXNvdcCPbXRjiIxWzA8wjdg86PihYpUrFcual4pFT6FJo8YSNXrQKdUAC7ZqFTCY2z4yOEBfmzMyfZj4bQp57JixEWpHzEkD_4FJVSCduOElEJiaZjvpk=w343-h457" width="343" /></a></div>I sent postcards with images of us in Paris at the Wrapped Arc de Triomphe as a New Year Greeting. They go in the mail today. I was waiting to see if 2022 really arrived.<p></p><p>We got about 40 cards from people (and one fruit cake and one box of goodies with a card inside) and a couple of electronic or email greetings. At least half included pictures of family. A couple of friends our age sent cards with only pictures of kids and grandkids. I'd like to see how gray their hair is, though. One extended family always sends huge tri-fold. There are always weddings and graduations. Three had those extensive letters that exhaust me just reading about all the activities with kids and grandkids. I sent 89 postcards. I sent one family two of them, I realized. (I knew this before I mailed them, but thought I'd just send them anyway and test the postal system.) We may get some more cards this week but the season is pretty done I guess. I get fewer and send fewer every year. Every year we get a small stack from organizations and businesses. I don't really know why they bother.</p><p>I hand-addressed and wrote a brief greeting on each of mine. I used to print labels. I have an Access database with addresses. It has 756 entries. Many don't have a proper address. There are quite a few people whose names don't ring a bell. I used to eliminate the people who had passed. I don't do that any longer and instead, just make a comment in a review column. I note on lines where I know the address is wrong or where a couple has split and, you know, who knows who is where and with whom. The database is becoming a sort of repository of the past, a time capsule. And that is OK. I think I only do this exercise and then write about it to connect briefly with some of the lives that have passed my way.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-71704227735359573802021-01-17T12:53:00.002-06:002021-01-17T12:53:20.943-06:00Holiday Cards, The Final Act<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGWxD42tVu3rAh_wAWrQxClvULX5C2-E7Y3-pE45yoPTLrtKUNpCo87aYZM-OS30dAI7EixY0j3CLQfYrbPHK20teP7SQ1Z9UnsM3tN6RXQOWJ5VHB-m1K7lkZr5-EsTReSEVFQ/s2048/IMG_7288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGWxD42tVu3rAh_wAWrQxClvULX5C2-E7Y3-pE45yoPTLrtKUNpCo87aYZM-OS30dAI7EixY0j3CLQfYrbPHK20teP7SQ1Z9UnsM3tN6RXQOWJ5VHB-m1K7lkZr5-EsTReSEVFQ/w480-h640/IMG_7288.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>During the holiday season we clipped and hung cards we received (along with our stockings and some Santa bendies) to a screen in our entryway.<p></p><p>I sent around 45 holiday letters and received about the same number of cards and letters from individuals. (We also receive quite a few from non-profits and businesses.) This is down from 150 plus going both directions in some years.</p><p>We got two Thanksgiving cards, two or three new year greetings, I think. Many cards were personal creations with pictures of families and pets. Letters recounted the COVID year. Some were just commercial cards with poinsettias, trees, stars, wise men, doves, wreaths, presents, Santas, snow, puppies, kittens, reindeer, snowmen. There was a glittery unicorn and two (2) with glittery Thomas Kinkade painting images. (The painter of light and glitter? Um.) There were personal notes here and there, many involving hopes for meet-ups "after."</p><p>Except for one cool reindeer card, the rest are consigned to trash (photos and glitter) or recycling. I save some nice ones in the Christmas decoration box to display in the future. I'll pack up the rest of the decorations soon and the holidays will be officially over giving way to tax season.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-63871004938404099522021-01-02T17:24:00.004-06:002021-01-02T17:26:24.979-06:00Posing<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKRjZvXMxxHjxAl9wWHKmTWbTTEKjM8mCOXBT7NMURaF01vU1pbyGS5K-TS2f0RGcV5fc8VUksiJXBJaeyOxJRhVYo5HkcTN7g1lqes-m1HlQB_3d4_WplqDRx3tP6oKbhRTcVQ/s2048/IMG_7472.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKRjZvXMxxHjxAl9wWHKmTWbTTEKjM8mCOXBT7NMURaF01vU1pbyGS5K-TS2f0RGcV5fc8VUksiJXBJaeyOxJRhVYo5HkcTN7g1lqes-m1HlQB_3d4_WplqDRx3tP6oKbhRTcVQ/w480-h640/IMG_7472.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> On our walk yesterday this bird posed for me. It was quite close and didn't move while I took first one shot (above) and then another.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHp-L2W87x7ntCFz6Mi2NnzPr_sJYsIMWKt82upmhPmEN1i2ViRAEERY4YglV9NoFfA_pnxlmKq7pJfko4dZDZpc9-fPR_yJMu-uYmSje4x4xyDUGMr-ZyH3ikUSWUMX4tMM04zw/s2048/IMG_7473.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHp-L2W87x7ntCFz6Mi2NnzPr_sJYsIMWKt82upmhPmEN1i2ViRAEERY4YglV9NoFfA_pnxlmKq7pJfko4dZDZpc9-fPR_yJMu-uYmSje4x4xyDUGMr-ZyH3ikUSWUMX4tMM04zw/w480-h640/IMG_7473.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I feel like, right now, that I am posing, too. I'm posing as someone who is not completely unhinged by the chaos of vaccinations in Texas (and elsewhere). I'm posing as someone who really wants to entertain the other homebound oldies with pictures like these on Facebook. I'm posing as someone who can just be thankful that we have enough to eat and comfortable surroundings and plenty of money even though we will possibly never get to go out and dine with a gaggle of friends safely or travel and wander without fear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a pose. Today the mask (not that mask, it was firmly on my face for every second I was outside the apartment) slipped. I was a bit angry at all the know-it-alls even when I shouldn't have been. And I was mad that people much younger than I and in good health were getting randomly vaccinated. I was mad that people older than I am felt comfortable doing international travel. I was mad that it had only been <i>one day</i> since someone in our high rise building was admitted to have tested positive. I was beyond furious at politicians trying to overturn the democratic process and promoting violence. Of course, no one but this blog and my husband saw this slip down the anger tunnel, because we aren't around others that much. Oh, I might have been a little sharp on Facebook in some comments. As one does.</div>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-59084257977208615762021-01-01T15:34:00.005-06:002021-01-01T15:38:04.026-06:00Reading and Tangents<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGPZ3Uuq3vxyfbwKF1ZlpVTj-K3H-r2OeBCaMHtdzQKy4uSjf1cxs8wSkYpDgjgk_orTL-AWgPgQSjBRYxU19TfHbw339DBZfRjDv2DhTBqT76Rz6pokPpMP0hdoCjlFzhqR4Ng/s2048/IMG_7484.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGPZ3Uuq3vxyfbwKF1ZlpVTj-K3H-r2OeBCaMHtdzQKy4uSjf1cxs8wSkYpDgjgk_orTL-AWgPgQSjBRYxU19TfHbw339DBZfRjDv2DhTBqT76Rz6pokPpMP0hdoCjlFzhqR4Ng/w480-h640/IMG_7484.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Books I've read during the pandemic shown above. I'm a slow reader. Plus I usually only read books at night in bed before drifting off to sleep. (This usually results in reading all or part of a page or two when I pick it up the next night, too.) <p></p><p>The books I read often lead me to other books. Years ago I read <i>Last Train From Berlin</i> by Howard K. Smith, a book published in 1942 that I borrowed from my in-laws. I found the first-person narrative of the World War II era in Europe so fascinating that I bought and read lots of old books published in the same time frame in the same vein. That slim volume entitled <i>Skin and Bones</i> is one I purchased in January at the Strand bookstore (in NYC) about a French WWII prisoner of war. Erik Larson's <i>The Splendid and the Vile</i> is in the WWII era vein but instead of being published in that era was published this year. However, it was drawn entirely from first-person letters, diaries, and reports and it is an absolutely stunning account of life in England during the blitz. </p><p>The other slim volume is a translation from the French of a book published in 1795 wherein a man is confined to his rooms and makes a journey of it. (I bought this long ago. How appropriate to read during the plague!) </p><p><i>The Biggest Bluff </i>and <i>The Improbability Principle</i> are examples of what I like to call 'popular math' books. I love reading them. The former is about poker and the people who play it but also touches on chance and probability. The latter book is about the chances of rare things happening. I was able to use what I learned in formulating my COVID-19 risk spreadsheet. Even if there are only 4500 infected people out of 1.3 million, you have an 8% chance of encountering one in a group of 25. If you encounter 250 then the chance exceeds 50%.</p><p><i>Leaving the Gay Place</i> is a biography of Billy Lee Brammer who wrote the quintessential Texas political novel <i>The Gay Place. </i>It was very interesting to track this infamous character and all the other characters one has heard of through Texas and D.C. </p><p>Lastly, the book I just finished <i>Flâneuse</i> is one that really created tangents. Anyone who follows <a href="https://www.facebook.com/linda.ball/">me on Facebook</a> knows that I enjoy walking as a meditation and creative act as well as exercise. This book was both highly personal and off into literary tangents. The author, Lauren Elkin, had her own experiences in Tokyo, Venice, Paris, New York, and London. But she talks at length about other women including ones I'd explored a lot before (Martha Gellhorn, Virginia Woolf) and ones I'd barely been cognizant of before. For example, she explores the French filmmaker Agnès Varda. I'd watched one of her films on the Criterion Channel (Cléo de 5 à 7) but reading about others caused me to subject my husband to a couple more last night and this morning. (He said he enjoyed them.) Odd French films are a great tangent to take one away from pandemic land.</p><p>I guess this is goodbye to Holidailies. It's been fun.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-25697133011637481842020-12-31T11:19:00.004-06:002020-12-31T11:19:27.174-06:00Endings and Beginnings<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThvrwlTtkT6kq8skR60fDJhXiebzeBN4jkq3pxkK2zWXmUBqSvABhN47pFZxDZkTaCYg_Bsi8j9KWqzonM0qfGvVCfwFbUyF5biC22Lcy_EdrS_T-ncSe8jRjkqp6eBbEcJcYKA/s2048/IMG_7157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgThvrwlTtkT6kq8skR60fDJhXiebzeBN4jkq3pxkK2zWXmUBqSvABhN47pFZxDZkTaCYg_Bsi8j9KWqzonM0qfGvVCfwFbUyF5biC22Lcy_EdrS_T-ncSe8jRjkqp6eBbEcJcYKA/w640-h640/IMG_7157.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>We think that a New Year, our artificial numbering of the orbits of the sun since the possible birth of a son of a god plus a couple of days, is significant. That we have to stay up until midnight (in our time zone?) to "see it in." Our mayor has ordered that bars and restaurants cut it short for a 10:30p.m. curfew as COVID-19 surges in our community. The state has sued the city for trying to enforce this order. <p></p><p>There are real events in time, birth and death, and sunrise and sunset. A year and its seasons. But we arbitrarily label them to give us a sense of control and order. So tomorrow is no different than today. Except that it's time to worry about taxes. To wind up our bookkeeping. To write a different number at the end of the thing we call a date. We try to wrap it up in the media with lists of deaths, lists of bests, etc.</p><p>The COVID-19 Pandemic does not respect your new calendar or planner. It surges on. And that has made me realize, more than ever, that there are no magic dates or deadlines except the natural ones. </p><p>Since the pandemic we often drive somewhere and walk around outside, keeping away from people. We have walked in a cemetery a few miles away quite a bit. In the photo, FFP (my husband) looks at the simple headstones for his parents. The space to his right is ours. There isn't room for two coffins (no double stacking here, unlike where my parents are buried). We will allegedly be cremated and placed there. We have talked during the last months of isolation about buying a marker. But, perhaps, we won't even have one. </p><p>There isn't much real significance to the day of your death. We arbitrarily assign it based on our system. My mother's day of death was August 28, 2002. August 28 was her younger sister's birthday. We cling to significance, though. I once read a book on probability that said that the chance a person died in the quarter after their birthday was much higher than the 1/4 you might expect. As if people wanted to and in some cases did will themselves to pass that marker. </p><p>We don't age by years, though. We age by bits and drabs and tiny insults. We give the arrival of a new year an artificial power. Whereas the actual day of birth and death are significant events, their anniversaries are not, really, except in our brains. </p><p>I am not religious, but my parents were. I put this bible verse on my dad's obituary. </p><blockquote><p>"<span style="background-color: white; color: #404f57; font-family: "PT Serif"; font-size: 18px;">A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth." Ecclesiastes 7:1</span></p></blockquote><p>While we celebrate anniversaries of days and the flipping of the calendar, anniversaries are our arbitrary triggers of memory. </p><p><br /></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-56756907502798601442020-12-30T10:10:00.001-06:002020-12-30T10:10:13.392-06:00Holiday Cards<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie98B8POHUkY6YQb_QsLQwbCqXNvU3OT8xECU0BvfDVU3HZ_vzoHyQdIFahZifVSREnYFjYJqDz1mVq84mwVUk7JwEZ_NNemkZgckSftsQclKmjwIb1465arhxJROQ1ceMomqm_Q/s2048/IMG_7316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie98B8POHUkY6YQb_QsLQwbCqXNvU3OT8xECU0BvfDVU3HZ_vzoHyQdIFahZifVSREnYFjYJqDz1mVq84mwVUk7JwEZ_NNemkZgckSftsQclKmjwIb1465arhxJROQ1ceMomqm_Q/w480-h640/IMG_7316.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The season for holiday cards is winding down. As of yesterday's mail, we have received 44 from humans not pimping a business or organization. We put them on a screen at the entrance to our apartment (with our never filled stockings) or on a desk with some decorations. I save really cool ones to put out the next year. A lot of them have family pictures. Some just have a tree, a star, etc. I enjoy getting them and, in some years, I have sent hundreds myself. This year we did a <a href="https://indd.adobe.com/view/da87ea06-5637-4cb0-b4c9-ecb4ff075142">letter</a> to print on our inkjet. I just sent the link to some friends (who did not send snail mail either). I mostly sent a printed letter <i>after</i> receiving something from someone. (This harks back to 2014 when I made the holiday card exchange a correspondence where I replied to cards I received, mostly with a handmade card.) I wrote in the blank space left on the letter this year a little personal note, maybe acknowledging the newsy letter or pictures included with their card. I've sent 45 so far I think. I fully realize that if everyone waited to get a card to send one that it would kill the habit pretty quickly!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTUkbKcGkQvu73UNSsKIiq2VzlxtTdMhz_Yw_jRO1ufStxxJrfhl1VUjgNv-Bg4LmQDmQKTN8PvveTJ5gH_KcTALxBmiGm5io7xN4YUuuHql6VN111EkQQ1Jlw2kqlWAszcMPEg/s2048/IMG_7315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTUkbKcGkQvu73UNSsKIiq2VzlxtTdMhz_Yw_jRO1ufStxxJrfhl1VUjgNv-Bg4LmQDmQKTN8PvveTJ5gH_KcTALxBmiGm5io7xN4YUuuHql6VN111EkQQ1Jlw2kqlWAszcMPEg/w640-h480/IMG_7315.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I imagine I will leave the cards up for a week or two. Why not? As we shelter here it will help remind us of the outside world. We are trying to get our first dose of the vaccine in order to start feeling safer out there.</div><br /><p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-70990372844837738772020-12-29T12:16:00.002-06:002020-12-29T12:20:53.775-06:00Ruined by Reading<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpURsNK-gtacUY9lo22D5I6mip2vmUr-4qEBPhHlzM9uB8vqnftVr30SzVnsITxdvF6zQxIfodGGUxyFJpdMUKIkPd-EHxOT7sKuy2nm_vOELVV1hjf3j23MldHwxqZ-wORM1yA/s2048/IMG_7328.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpURsNK-gtacUY9lo22D5I6mip2vmUr-4qEBPhHlzM9uB8vqnftVr30SzVnsITxdvF6zQxIfodGGUxyFJpdMUKIkPd-EHxOT7sKuy2nm_vOELVV1hjf3j23MldHwxqZ-wORM1yA/w480-h640/IMG_7328.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>My husband looks in the window of a book shop on South Congress. It was Christmas Day so the shop wasn't open, but we wouldn't have gone in anyway. In fact, we were only on the street there because we figured we could avoid people pretty well on Christmas Day. We've bought many a book in that shop plus some artwork and posters. <p></p><p>During the pandemic, we've continued to receive three newspapers, four of five magazines (including the almost weekly <i>The New Yorker</i>) and have ordered books a couple of times from <a href="https://www.powells.com/">Powell's City of Books</a>, our favorite bookstore of all time in Portland, OR. Never mind that we have hundreds (more than a thousand?) books in our apartment. We do spend a lot of time reading, but we never catch up! Oh, and we received this lovely coffee table book as a present:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYUNn4WOChKfIMf4aGUAOotZCQEZQ_cnXsb7S5eqEmuZj9CDmXxIuHtrUk-SklU8iArSFaadC1t2scY27yONm2utGNavBxhncDqixjwN7jQUc_saYJmusLb6R2Hq86V7Z8K0scw/s2048/IMG_7246.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYUNn4WOChKfIMf4aGUAOotZCQEZQ_cnXsb7S5eqEmuZj9CDmXxIuHtrUk-SklU8iArSFaadC1t2scY27yONm2utGNavBxhncDqixjwN7jQUc_saYJmusLb6R2Hq86V7Z8K0scw/w480-h640/IMG_7246.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These were Christmas presents to ourselves (ordered from Powell's):</div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-jLz8EoS1O3hXvUwLjwZw8etDGyKTdv1nH_1-5RrPopNB8Nkz1uk-7w9dr7QJzZSAD3VhkZ7mp8pI8ZzPZ9SUUB3AAJiUN5c7uqW2zfu1XzX3avnPjqzEWX6xrIOJj_O2ygjZg/s2048/IMG_7037.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-jLz8EoS1O3hXvUwLjwZw8etDGyKTdv1nH_1-5RrPopNB8Nkz1uk-7w9dr7QJzZSAD3VhkZ7mp8pI8ZzPZ9SUUB3AAJiUN5c7uqW2zfu1XzX3avnPjqzEWX6xrIOJj_O2ygjZg/w480-h640/IMG_7037.JPG" width="480" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">The newspapers pile up. The 'to be read book pile' grows. The magazine piles teeter. We do spend a few hours a day reading. I could get through the newspapers faster if every puzzle grid I came across didn't sorely tempt me. Sometimes I cut them out for later. Have piles of them now. I guess if the apocalypse comes and newspapers cease publication I'll be ready.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We never like to be without words. Inside this apartment, we ought never to be. We were leaving to take the husband's car to get a tire repaired yesterday and he went back in to get a book...just in case he had to wait! (I laughed, but tucked inside my backpack were some newspaper sections.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">There is solace in reading. (Or working the puzzles.) You forget just where you are in this pandemic.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-77742327040911336132020-12-28T13:10:00.007-06:002020-12-28T13:27:27.031-06:00I pledge, resolve and really, really mean to...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbS28Wmt1fTpRZ9BqfLjtZadwz5rx_tcFaKMN-heE4UwgTDYQ4iwSRh_8kbi5YrhE0WtBciGJ7xSALGHPvGRvT8SHL30ZvKLyrUzICEyk8k0loVeDr-Mv3FE8tM2VUpfhYPbmLg/s2048/IMG_7288.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqbS28Wmt1fTpRZ9BqfLjtZadwz5rx_tcFaKMN-heE4UwgTDYQ4iwSRh_8kbi5YrhE0WtBciGJ7xSALGHPvGRvT8SHL30ZvKLyrUzICEyk8k0loVeDr-Mv3FE8tM2VUpfhYPbmLg/w480-h640/IMG_7288.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>It's that time of year when people (other people mostly) usually make resolutions. [The picture above has virtually nothing to do with resolutions unless I made one to get organized about holiday cards. Which I have never done.] Oh, I've done it. Done it to death in prior years. Way back in the early days of this strange time, I even made a plague pledge:<ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;">I will drastically limit my own contacts as
well as limit asking others to make contacts on my behalf if they'd otherwise
be sheltering or not coming to our building.</span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;">I will use my supplies sparingly so I don't
have to ask friends to search for (or share from hoards) TP or wipes or certain
food items.</span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;">I will not share unverified information on
social media or bother to rant about the performance of leaders.</span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;">I will not put judgmental posts up <span class="textexposedshow">about others' behavior in doing excessive errands,
shopping, sightseeing, and so forth. I will not point out obvious hoarding. Know
that I am seeing this. As are others.</span></span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;"><span class="textexposedshow">I will quit complaining about the construction
crews working I can see from my perch. But I see it and if there is evidence
that it prolongs the outbreak...well, I don't know.</span></span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;"><span class="textexposedshow">I will be thankful for people adding some
shopping for us to an errand they were already doing, reducing vectors
somewhat. So far, we are relying on people in our own building and one on our own
floor. Do the vector geometry.</span></span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;"><span class="textexposedshow">I will limit my orders that require others to
enter our lobby but be thankful for Amazon and Austin Wine Merchant and Fixe
having allowed us to get some things.</span></span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background: white;"><span class="textexposedshow">I will realize how privileged </span></span></span><span style="background: white; color: #385898; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Forrest</span><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"> and I are in this crisis and try to help
people left vulnerable by the loss of jobs, health, loved ones, and mental
health.</span></span></span></li><li><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span class="textexposedshow">I will try to stay healthy and not fall down
doing laps around the apartment or climbing my ladder to get something so that
I can avoid overwhelmed healthcare for a non-COVID-19 reason.</span></span></span></li></ul><div>I must say that I have stayed pretty close to these promises. We have gotten a lot of packages delivered, I guess, but less than some people. As time went by the people in our building who were doing in-person shopping and bringing us stuff have gone by the by. (One got the virus and after hospitalization and recovery never offered again. Go figure. Two left the building.) We have our cars in working order, though, and so are doing curbside pickup. I <i>might</i> have railed at the performance of our government leaders and I have complained about the construction continuations (and was proven right as it became one of the flash points in our community).</div><div><br /></div><div>Those New Year's Resolutions, though. Oofta. I have mixed things up by doing <a href="http://visiblewoman.blogspot.com/2014/11/holiday-resolutions.html#holres">Holiday Resolutions</a>. And these make me really sad because they reveal a lifestyle I've been (temporarily I hope) robbed of. I have made the <a href="http://visiblewoman.blogspot.com/2006/12/resolutions-past-measuring-up.html">mundane NY resolutions</a>. And years ago...I <a href="https://austinprop.com/viswoman/jo200601/j01.htm">made resolutions for other people</a>!</div><div><br /></div><div>I think maybe I will just approach 2021 with this thought from 2012: </div><blockquote><div><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13.2px;">I resolve to live fully in the moment at hand as best I can and to do things a little differently every day to shake things up.</span></div><div></div></blockquote><p>That seems fair and maybe I can keep it. </p><p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-12683765525273997872020-12-27T12:17:00.001-06:002020-12-27T12:17:41.098-06:00That Didn't Go as Expected<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezsDL6zxLDnzEml-dIG02BW1zZSsKDgi0IbAMDhdNFjNL_5q1CVB4VR0lpZQDnqHxhSr1zvNM-947dyaKbnjH6omnbHToPT7AZn8WjtojteGYkgNChyY0yZUvLr0D4ksTAxTyLw/s2048/IMG_7386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezsDL6zxLDnzEml-dIG02BW1zZSsKDgi0IbAMDhdNFjNL_5q1CVB4VR0lpZQDnqHxhSr1zvNM-947dyaKbnjH6omnbHToPT7AZn8WjtojteGYkgNChyY0yZUvLr0D4ksTAxTyLw/w480-h640/IMG_7386.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Well, that didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. (Sort of like all of 2020.) I said I was going to be productive yesterday. I had good intentions. I was up at a reasonable hour. Of course, I milled around getting the papers in, checking in on the computers, making a copy of the NYT Saturday crossword for my husband, getting coffee. Saturday puzzles take longer so it became time to walk but we decided to have lunch first. Then we went downstairs to the car (gear up with masks and wipes and recycling to take out, etc.) and got in the car and started to back out. Whoa. Front tire very, very flat. The responsible screw landed on top of the tire as FFP pulled right back in the spot. Well, now. We don't change tires. Even if we did, is the donut ever properly inflated? So. We still went on a drive for a walk, taking my ancient but still running 2001 Civic. Still enjoying the Christmas decorations especially those that are fun without illumination.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qtX6Fx2Ar6ocfBggGms3MWJzcjx8yFIyacjxwJURbJMChpz-jba1QSzjvzG9FmvPbQmqHnn8uJnXgXzisQ6rtbPvBHrYOdLNYb-NfJ5yTtlxTl7vLfIyGQYuY-ea7KyrMKcHaQ/s2048/IMG_7379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qtX6Fx2Ar6ocfBggGms3MWJzcjx8yFIyacjxwJURbJMChpz-jba1QSzjvzG9FmvPbQmqHnn8uJnXgXzisQ6rtbPvBHrYOdLNYb-NfJ5yTtlxTl7vLfIyGQYuY-ea7KyrMKcHaQ/w480-h640/IMG_7379.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p>When we got back, I looked through the fat files on our old cars to see when we last bought tires but couldn't find it. The tires look great. FFP called AAA and went through the exhaustive process of telling them we live in a high rise, the address is on the side of the building but the parking entrance is in the back, the truck will have to be buzzed in, the bigger wreckers are too tall so don't send them, etc. We both went to the garage at the appointed time (3:19 p.m.?) and waited because FFP thought I might need to move my car. The guy was about a half-hour late but did get in and quickly changed it, getting the donut to recommended pressure. So next week we will get it repaired or get a new tire. It's always something. </p><p>But by the time we got that done, it was sooo close to the cocktail hour that my goals fell by the wayside. I made Welsh Rarebit from the leftover sauce from Christmas Eve and we ate that with a side salad. I made myself an Old Pal (equal parts Rye, Dry Vermouth and Campari shaken and strained into a chilled glass). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvdgaJkR6rW9xMddqL1pcX6fEeveHZPlta0Dk-JzTtbnPsmnthcDp8Uyvn5xAPAy-qvEPbzMQeSqfRytzoZ9rQbVYHd5FJN117cPxRYwehgCqppZDUzc0bV663ZIclYvNu1ZzCw/s2048/IMG_7387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvdgaJkR6rW9xMddqL1pcX6fEeveHZPlta0Dk-JzTtbnPsmnthcDp8Uyvn5xAPAy-qvEPbzMQeSqfRytzoZ9rQbVYHd5FJN117cPxRYwehgCqppZDUzc0bV663ZIclYvNu1ZzCw/s320/IMG_7387.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5oiSfRYl9NOPDJsmlblSFzdWFLqnHHGQhyphenhyphen5K4HhA-uc3TKy6MZmg5WyQF_F5Fx-OZKkwyvF08i98qO9IyXwQmiiVvHDltNv4yh-zCwokPclohCe9PPJwh3zQYXws-AQCClvvmQ/s2048/IMG_7388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5oiSfRYl9NOPDJsmlblSFzdWFLqnHHGQhyphenhyphen5K4HhA-uc3TKy6MZmg5WyQF_F5Fx-OZKkwyvF08i98qO9IyXwQmiiVvHDltNv4yh-zCwokPclohCe9PPJwh3zQYXws-AQCClvvmQ/s320/IMG_7388.JPG" /></a></div></div><p>We settled in to read (me: papers; he: a new book or maybe an old one he found) and doze with jazz playing until we decided to watch a couple more NYPD Blue episodes before bed with more reading until sleep around 1 a.m. And so it goes. The bill paying and spreadsheets for tax forms for the CPA, the cleaning, the organizing will wait until another day. Perhaps...tomorrow.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-13869676844782775872020-12-26T11:07:00.002-06:002020-12-26T11:07:39.382-06:00Christmas Break<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4jLdE_E045RKZ5H5ENqdAyFoenr2SDUiqPOBpta1TS0XkUD-baRCA_ttK3BWuRTfDgcwV3gapSnI3XSwFCRAnXz1eDCvhyphenhyphenzdCApxsQhGbSV2Yq8XWaTXEQQqBF34d0YuMMvjMA/s2048/IMG_7364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4jLdE_E045RKZ5H5ENqdAyFoenr2SDUiqPOBpta1TS0XkUD-baRCA_ttK3BWuRTfDgcwV3gapSnI3XSwFCRAnXz1eDCvhyphenhyphenzdCApxsQhGbSV2Yq8XWaTXEQQqBF34d0YuMMvjMA/w480-h640/IMG_7364.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I gave myself a day off. To do whatever I wanted, when I wanted. I didn't post on this blog. I answered some emails. We took our walk as usual. That's my hubby strolling along on a street leading to South First where there is a Moonlight Tower. We walked about two and a half miles, part of it on a shopping street on South Congress we would usually avoid this time of year leading up to Christmas but especially now while trying to social distance.<p></p><p>I ate leftovers. And cheese and crackers. Breakfast was banana 'pancakes' (really banana and eggs cooked up like pancakes) and bacon. I had candy and cookies. A late snack of half a salami and cheese sandwich. And a cocktail. Manhattan on the rocks with High West Rendevous Rye. </p><p>I put maybe three pieces in the jigsaw puzzle. I read papers and worked puzzles in them. We watched part of WW84. Meh. We watched a couple of episodes of "Bridgerton." It's no Downton Abbey or maybe it's just a different time. We watched an old Cary Grant movie called "The Holiday." It was amazing. Directed by George Cukor. With Katherine Hepburn. Cary and Katherine do some gymnastics. There is a New Year's Eve party if you need a holiday hook. (We watched on Criterion.) We watched some NYPD Blue.</p><p>I plan to be productive today. No really. I don't feel bad about missing a day of Holidailies because doing whatever I wanted felt good. For a while. I want to feel like I accomplished things at the end of today.</p><p><br /></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-82043210198082337062020-12-24T18:08:00.001-06:002020-12-24T18:08:24.271-06:00It's Christmas Eve<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWh4VqoQXfIcI1EDkbWj8Tgqwqm7QJw8sTudzFZgLWoS8kOBcvN86pEAM-voWd9iH7Ge_SHkj0gNrHDuQDTkOfNpTec1sKIspZjAQ6uZVY-HSxcXMzIz_r_DNyg3amMXmU3ekHw/s2048/IMG_7290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWh4VqoQXfIcI1EDkbWj8Tgqwqm7QJw8sTudzFZgLWoS8kOBcvN86pEAM-voWd9iH7Ge_SHkj0gNrHDuQDTkOfNpTec1sKIspZjAQ6uZVY-HSxcXMzIz_r_DNyg3amMXmU3ekHw/w480-h640/IMG_7290.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Our supper was Welsh Rarebit (cheesy toast) with a side salad with sliced turkey and Bloody Marys. It was delicious. I made the cheese spread from the Fergus Henderson recipe. You make a cheese sauce with Guinness, Worchestershire, dry mustard, cayenne and let it set up in a shallow pan until you can spread it. Toast bread then spread with cheese and broil until bubbly. So good. We will snack on something else later. (Maybe a sweet. We have some candy, cookies and pie.) And have some more drinks. Maybe a glass of wine, a cocktail, a coffee drink. There is a jigsaw puzzle on the go. We are going to queue up a traditional movie for our holiday watching. Maybe "Giant." We used to watch it with our parents when they were still alive to entertain them on the holiday.<p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-71003973837459563952020-12-23T15:13:00.001-06:002020-12-25T14:23:33.520-06:00Random Thoughts from the Plague Times<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqOLEDpPFy_uN0lHFN9KmjbK3wDW4Wf8Suhv6rj0R65AIDwfYtWXgzzuAzjYBmK4Jdpyl270H6YL3VV2hRNWZ5utY7xtzicc23Pkd5Gp5ua19w51U5s_1_G05Wv-9KtBUdf3cpA/s2048/IMG_6766.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqOLEDpPFy_uN0lHFN9KmjbK3wDW4Wf8Suhv6rj0R65AIDwfYtWXgzzuAzjYBmK4Jdpyl270H6YL3VV2hRNWZ5utY7xtzicc23Pkd5Gp5ua19w51U5s_1_G05Wv-9KtBUdf3cpA/w480-h640/IMG_6766.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Puzzles are distracting. When I'm trying to match up a piece to the others in a jigsaw, I can momentarily forget that going outside the apartment is a big deal involving taking a small risk, gearing up with a mask, and making sure we have everything because multiple trips make it harder (getting an elevator alone, etc.). Same with the crossword puzzles and other variety puzzles I do (Ken-Ken, etc.). So while I'm not bored and have plenty to do there is something about puzzles in that they allow me to drift away from the current mess. (Above picture is my husband placing the last piece of a jigsaw we did.)<p></p><p>Other random thoughts from this time:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>While lots of people lost their jobs I think in Austin the people in construction and landscaping are pretty well-employed. Of course, there has been a spread of COVID-19 in these workforces so that's not good.</li><li>I figure the companies that make take-out containers and paper sacks and all the accouterments of curbside dining and shopping are doing well.</li><li>Bars "operating as restaurants" by adding a food truck is a joke. A Texas joke.</li><li>It is amazing to get a call from someone inviting us to brunch. At a restaurant. Upon hearing that we are <i>not </i>doing that we hear that the person's spouse already had it (caught shopping) and so did the caller (from a grandkid). And besides "everything down here is wide open." (In their small town outside Austin.) </li><li>I no longer expect much from vaccination. My hope is that people who get it won't get sick or not as sick even though they <i>may</i> be able to pass it around. I hope to get one so that I won't get as sick <i>when</i> I get it. I'll keep wearing my mask so that I don't pass it along and avoiding contact and such after I get one, but I might eat in a restaurant or shop inside more if I thought I wouldn't get as sick. (I have made one and only one inside shop since mid-March. I hope that people I have been avoiding so that I don't give it to them might get a vaccine and reduce the risk of killing them.)</li><li>I now realize that this situation will continue in pretty much the same way for us until <i>it has been one year</i>! Maybe longer. Shocking.</li><li>I don't know if I will ever feel the same interacting with others. I'm an introvert anyway. Don't encourage me.</li><li>I am well and truly never going to get my drawers, closets, storage cage, and computer files sorted and organized before I die. Having nine months to do it and making this much progress? Right.</li><li>Our neighborhood walks (most within five miles of here, the furthest twelve miles) have proved to me that there is an infinity in this small space. I'd love to be traveling the world but there are lots of things to see. So close. And yet, sigh.</li><li>My writing here on this blog, posts on Facebook, and scribbles in notebooks in longhand are not really writing or journaling. They are really just ways to keep my feet planted in the world so that I don't float away in this weird time. On paper, I make myself write the date out with the day of the week in parentheses and then Day XXX. Today: December 23, 2020 (Wednesday) Day 284. (Sometimes it's all I can write. But usually, I write what we ate, where we went, what errands we ran, and what we watched on TV.) Yes, 284 days in this isolation mode.</li><li>We watch so many movies and series on TV that occasionally I will not remember what we watched the night before. Or I will remember snippets from a series and can't remember where it was set or what the name of it was or which streaming service or cable channel it was on. We have been working our way through "NYPD Blue," however. So when we are at a loss as to what to watch we simply revert to that.</li><li>In the Before Times, I would get things done and get them out of the way so that I could travel or go out and about. Now I often think "oh, I can do that tomorrow just as well."</li><li>For a while, I watched the clock and when 5 p.m. rolled around I would mix a drink (or get the hubby to do it). It was kind of symbolic. Now, I'm not so interested in it. (Not that I have quit drinking. Far from it. As the recycling bin will attest.)</li><li>When I express doubt that we will ever again travel freely, dine out with abandon or go out to hear live performances, I really don't need to have people say "oh, yes you will." But, of course, someone always does.</li></ul><p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-24102051079061093182020-12-22T15:32:00.002-06:002020-12-22T15:32:16.494-06:00I Don't Really Like Cooking<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqF7yi9pTJ9QtnvYr5bLXYmsEkoi9ZK4qgPrYWzbeIf2R-AjlXlcCLWujcBlSSy0tit9Lbeed2O87Cfy44eVlNQAUY5RM2J0Oe7WQcCNp3GLumtvB4AuKsFQt8CbWHYFwxiYTHPQ/s2048/IMG_5834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqF7yi9pTJ9QtnvYr5bLXYmsEkoi9ZK4qgPrYWzbeIf2R-AjlXlcCLWujcBlSSy0tit9Lbeed2O87Cfy44eVlNQAUY5RM2J0Oe7WQcCNp3GLumtvB4AuKsFQt8CbWHYFwxiYTHPQ/w480-h640/IMG_5834.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Last night I made dinner. This isn't it. I should have taken some pictures last night. The recipe involved a lot of mushrooms and other ingredients. (Including wine and garlic...usually a good sign.) The result was allegedly Mushroom Bourgignon. It took a long time. I wasn't terribly impressed.<p></p><p>I don't really mind chopping. The above picture is probably chopped chicken tenders, chopped broccoli, chopped carrots, chopped onion, and minced garlic. All in a bottled curry sauce. (Was yummy as I recall.) </p><p>Since the Plague Times began I've poached eggs in the traditional way (in swirling hot water). expertly separated eggs for my husband's Caesar salad (and saved the whites for an egg-white forward omelet that was pretty expertly done). I've made wilted spinach salad similar to my mom's from the olden days. I've chopped all sorts of stuff for salads and curry (bottled sauce). I don't bake. I take too many liberties with recipes to bake. (Which might explain my dissatisfaction with the recipe last night.) I never roast chicken or turkey. We don't make homemade pizza.</p><p>I love to eat out. Take out is harder and requires planning ahead and also often ends up with food that needs reheating. We've been doing a lot of it, however. We always get more than we can eat because if you have to reheat anyway you might as well not have to go out again. We got takeout greasy hamburgers the other day. In spite of driving them home and having to climb the stairs to our apartment because the fire alarm had taken out the elevators, they were delicious.</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-28265920213550085412020-12-21T14:50:00.001-06:002020-12-21T14:50:16.686-06:00Distance World<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGUt9ewzeuQCvmv3_BT8zvk1Cr05z_XOuPU3jo8ebqXLEGfw8SKnjDsY5OAvlxuSnSK6tYXBPeySiVsHmEI1NBDmU9TaZHVU6CkcJt1ZbppUSpjQE4AXuz-UD6FedJIr4DVGRbA/s2048/200507FFPNiagaraFalls2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGUt9ewzeuQCvmv3_BT8zvk1Cr05z_XOuPU3jo8ebqXLEGfw8SKnjDsY5OAvlxuSnSK6tYXBPeySiVsHmEI1NBDmU9TaZHVU6CkcJt1ZbppUSpjQE4AXuz-UD6FedJIr4DVGRbA/w640-h480/200507FFPNiagaraFalls2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>This photo is from back in the day when we went out and about in the real world. I took my husband's picture at Niagara Falls. The other people in the picture have haunted me every time I've viewed it. We were on a road trip from Austin to Maine and back with various stops and adventures.<p></p><p>Our forays into the real world are now limited to walks. We try to stay apart from the people we encounter. Particularly those without masks. We either walk from our building or (more usually) from a place we park in a not too far away neighborhood.</p><p>We mostly encounter others in the pets and artifacts they display outside their homes. Instead of going to a Christmas party in someone's home (we were always invited to a few) and surreptitiously looking at the books on their shelves we look in Little Free Libraries. Sometimes we take a book. Sometimes we leave one. Instead of seeing people's art and decoration in their house, we see yard art and choices of exterior paint.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHya8gd6yc0AobdK_RvFhObrRhad24xpWFqvTIcoWK7wBDZdCMmunZhIgPmmsfJjndCt5As4-doyhnQjJE5EA6_Hzc1EmGr2TZVT4cHqnw3XvLyqZde96pobFAPN1g0yzz6xXGg/s2048/IMG_6817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHya8gd6yc0AobdK_RvFhObrRhad24xpWFqvTIcoWK7wBDZdCMmunZhIgPmmsfJjndCt5As4-doyhnQjJE5EA6_Hzc1EmGr2TZVT4cHqnw3XvLyqZde96pobFAPN1g0yzz6xXGg/w480-h640/IMG_6817.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p>We join with people on social media. I have Facebook posts that I put up to entertain and connect with people there. (Current efforts are photo journeys through neighborhoods with pictures like the above, Christmas photos from the past leading up to Friday, Monday Murals, Monday Museums, Trip Tuesday, Wednesday on the Water, Throwback Thursday, Food Friday, Saturday Strangers, and Saturday Shopping.) I put up random thoughts and links to articles. I look at others' posts on Facebook and on Twitter. </p><p>A few people come out of the woodwork and quote unreliable sources about election fraud and such. But most people give you a view of their lives. My husband is currently producing a Monday literary thing on Facebook. We take pictures of food we make or get from take-out just like we used to take pictures of drinks and food when we dined out. (I even take pictures of my cocktails at home occasionally.) </p><p>One friend produces a cocktail picture, recipe and historical round-up of the drink every day that he is home in his New York apartment. Many friends post pictures of food they've cooked or sometimes food they are preparing or prepping.</p><p>Friends are posting pictures of their Christmas decorations (nine trees? really?) but we are guilty, too.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRF_HQj-ruvhJGvVQkZ1iZK45qgqphRdwZuchAiy9j014vHDdxh_lSMMz7H8w_T5fgAh03i6DqmR1bU-BWIWK6vkljjFPMZFaS8E6hZl5ZdZZ9B9azzodKxERQTrICLXIjqPlFQ/s2048/IMG_7120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRF_HQj-ruvhJGvVQkZ1iZK45qgqphRdwZuchAiy9j014vHDdxh_lSMMz7H8w_T5fgAh03i6DqmR1bU-BWIWK6vkljjFPMZFaS8E6hZl5ZdZZ9B9azzodKxERQTrICLXIjqPlFQ/w640-h480/IMG_7120.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>So it's like being invited to a party. We look at their holiday cooking. Or everyday cooking. So much more elaborate than ours often. We see what they are drinking and how they've decorated.<div><br /></div><div>People talk about their front line experience with the virus. One fellow in our building wrote about it when he went to the hospital and when he came home. A high school classmate announced that he and his wife had it. Shortly after, his wife died. A local woman talked about the vaccine trial she was in and is now promoting the vaccine on news media. Relatives and friends announce they have tested positive. Others, we learn, don't admit it on social media.</div><div><br /></div><div>Other people take neighborhood walks and show pictures. People go on road trips (!) and airplane trips (!) and post pictures. Our travel person went to Africa and Mexico. She not only planned our trips in the past but sometimes went along. I hope that will happen again. I hope she doesn't catch the virus. The Africa trip involved pre-testing, isolation. She flew in business class, had a mask and face shield, and went to places taking precautions. Still. We wouldn't have gone. We are older. But vicariously we went along on Facebook. Friends had to fly or drive to help elderly parents. We went along with their pictures and experiences.</div><div><br /></div><div>One fellow who is as isolated as we are always posted random pictures he had collected on the Internet and he still does it. These spark random conversations.</div><div><br /></div><div>People talk about injuries and illnesses that are not virus-related. Someone with a heart transplant has to be hospitalized. Someone falls and is injured. People are suffering from seasonal allergies. (I guess it's the constant mask but I haven't had allergies or illness in months.)</div><div><br /></div><div>It isn't like being with other people and going to parties. But it isn't total isolation either.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-3755340102651843982020-12-20T16:05:00.002-06:002020-12-20T16:06:41.039-06:00I No Longer Believe I'll Get Out Anytime Soon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BnN8CHXZ0bewUzDYM3M0xl-pKjQfiS53bEA0oBKwYFi8KlAjdnFv38pQbivzYda9FtTo2R37SqTmaH8yfW-7KZAmm7FGc2oABWP926e17zifGAg7WsHbDoBMkHcg7r6Wja5kPQ/s2048/IMG_6691.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BnN8CHXZ0bewUzDYM3M0xl-pKjQfiS53bEA0oBKwYFi8KlAjdnFv38pQbivzYda9FtTo2R37SqTmaH8yfW-7KZAmm7FGc2oABWP926e17zifGAg7WsHbDoBMkHcg7r6Wja5kPQ/w480-h640/IMG_6691.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Yeah, you are there to stay, buddy. If you escaped that chain link fence you might get hit by a car. Or get lost. No sign of a collar and I bet you aren't microchipped.<p></p><p>I know just how you feel, my friend. There were times during the last 281 days when I thought I'd maybe get out to dine, to browse casually in stores, to travel, to go to parties. Oh, I know some of you are doing it. I read about it on Facebook. I see the numbers climb for infections. People die. (Well, they escape to somewhere, I suppose.) </p><p>I now see that to stay safe I will need to continue to limit my activities. I won't be getting a vaccine soon. Not essential. Not in care. Not old enough. (Although I am well past 65.) </p><p>I see the bars near my condo when we are driving. They draw crowds. They are "operating as restaurants." Our governor won't have another shutdown. Period.</p><p>I no longer hope. I put things off. So tomorrow I will have something to do. My husband has deadlines. (He is writing a lot of the copy for the neighborhood newspaper he has contributed to for years.) I have deadlines, too. I have to do certain financial things in a timely fashion. But I put things off. Cleaning. sorting, etc. Because there is always tomorrow. And more and more tomorrows.<br /> </p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-86427723463046526482020-12-19T18:18:00.001-06:002020-12-19T18:18:36.175-06:00Second Wave<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjqaEmnZeDLrSHT8uWFrX7yG7CMAvTcGbh4dh07vgnlB2Oh49wPPrOnk4o4h9JsfLmN9akse0OqkboNmfjIt8Hgbu4RaC7iSZUJQv1S0bLBvcFbQQGgxPPqsCxJ9IBAgUQgo_oQ/s974/COVD1219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="974" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjqaEmnZeDLrSHT8uWFrX7yG7CMAvTcGbh4dh07vgnlB2Oh49wPPrOnk4o4h9JsfLmN9akse0OqkboNmfjIt8Hgbu4RaC7iSZUJQv1S0bLBvcFbQQGgxPPqsCxJ9IBAgUQgo_oQ/w640-h198/COVD1219.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Every day, a bit after six, I will usually look at this chart for my county in Texas. Besides new cases, I'll also see if there are new deaths reported and how the hospitalizations, ICU, and ventilator numbers look. We are trying to tame vectors ourselves. We don't ride the elevators in our building with others and go to the public area downstairs (lobby, mailroom with 430 boxes, concierge desk) either very late at night or not at all. (A kind concierge drops things at our door.) We walk outside where there are fewer people. We get everything curbside. (Save my one trip to Costco which, I'm happy to say was a couple of weeks ago and at the elderly hour.) We were just out picking up takeout at a restaurant and a few things at the deli downstairs. All dropped in our trunk. We don't want to catch it. And we don't want to pass it on. So we reduce our vectors of exposure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hope those numbers go down to September/October levels soon. I hope the dip today isn't just lax weekend reporting. Or the fact that UT students took their positive tests home. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There isn't much I can do about it. Except, you know, what I'm doing.</div><p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-55180521945629330072020-12-18T18:56:00.002-06:002020-12-18T19:01:24.413-06:00Christmas Presents<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X07F-vOlKWfIsivJ4XKLWFRQ6E0rMZ4ozjBLF-XjwyUKBsIry4hZhnMMFHEO2bxqxJzfxmTvOfWeDI2doxV3DgKsnOt6DywLf6ayyqdDPeBjmgcgZ9XxCdISLP1J5WI6J4ysUw/s2048/IMG_7037.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X07F-vOlKWfIsivJ4XKLWFRQ6E0rMZ4ozjBLF-XjwyUKBsIry4hZhnMMFHEO2bxqxJzfxmTvOfWeDI2doxV3DgKsnOt6DywLf6ayyqdDPeBjmgcgZ9XxCdISLP1J5WI6J4ysUw/w480-h640/IMG_7037.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Some time ago Powell's City of Books in Portland, OR had a big sale. We ordered the books shown and they arrived this week. Two for me, two for him. That is the extent of our Christmas presents except that I ordered a new Page-A-Day French language and culture calendar. (It arrived today.) We did send some stuff to our friends in the NW, ordered over the internet. Other than that no gifts. No wrapping. I've started distributing some Christmas decorations around the apartment like the bendy Santas above. And our tree. That's up. Some of the stuff on the little bar left for size reference.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaCagEUlQCWRGKe4VANv2LQlzGCoYkRN-6abnpi3I_px6I7fI-udO5NJ251c-qda5M5fpvdyAtJWc4lmnW1EGmlcNedCFh7gLLqy9EgZ7lMubiBIzt2tQOdtYwNfnOmnfLEdagg/s2048/IMG_7120.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaCagEUlQCWRGKe4VANv2LQlzGCoYkRN-6abnpi3I_px6I7fI-udO5NJ251c-qda5M5fpvdyAtJWc4lmnW1EGmlcNedCFh7gLLqy9EgZ7lMubiBIzt2tQOdtYwNfnOmnfLEdagg/w640-h480/IMG_7120.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>The little packages are tiny empty wrapped boxes probably created as decoration by child labor in Asia years ago. Tiny ornaments and tiny rubber trinkets abound. Since we have no real presents under it there is nothing to dwarf it but the liquor bottles.<div><br /></div><div>In the spirit. Uh, no. May be drinking the spirits, though. I did make up a Christmas letter to print. Then had to do hand-to-hand combat with my printer today when it started acting up. Maybe I'll just point people to the <a href="https://indd.adobe.com/view/da87ea06-5637-4cb0-b4c9-ecb4ff075142">online version</a>. And they can imagine I wrote them a personal note in the white space.<br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-75418286556650572322020-12-17T16:22:00.002-06:002020-12-17T16:22:35.993-06:00I've Never Really Like the End of the Year<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtJ6O9AzWjrhp4V5J0frlziI8jRA0c0o3FCzXzoF2RLdjNvWPV7Aaph95cuHx-jixkNBWiLFMPYKhl8SRGqhIl1eK1BrA_p8mY3zsQEL2Q32n0i0PBxdFEIxwHEBRDtRArCaYlg/s2048/DSCN0968.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtJ6O9AzWjrhp4V5J0frlziI8jRA0c0o3FCzXzoF2RLdjNvWPV7Aaph95cuHx-jixkNBWiLFMPYKhl8SRGqhIl1eK1BrA_p8mY3zsQEL2Q32n0i0PBxdFEIxwHEBRDtRArCaYlg/w640-h480/DSCN0968.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>The holidays are fun and all, usually, but you have to bend over backward to do everything and worry about the year-end stuff. We paid our property taxes today. (Online.) Oooof. Since we have this little business we have all sorts of year-end tax things to worry about between that and the personal stuff. I always worried about getting gifts for people (when I did that and I did at least for the parents when they were still alive). This year there are no parties with great food and decoration and booze to relieve the dread of year-end. We used to walk around downtown and look at all the window displays and hotel decorations, but this year it doesn't seem worth the risk of wandering through a hotel lobby to see a giant nutcracker.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzgWQfXePR5P1m1z-pZQvW1QpUZ0n7Bg45yYn94euyKjdThwNXLSOY2Ee1gmQiGTj-WTnGl1b484vH8bdKQlYZCR0dKwyI11oaEJm-P7J5v7JaHMco3IgfTrecxneT_BOmJfT4g/s2048/IMG_0417.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzgWQfXePR5P1m1z-pZQvW1QpUZ0n7Bg45yYn94euyKjdThwNXLSOY2Ee1gmQiGTj-WTnGl1b484vH8bdKQlYZCR0dKwyI11oaEJm-P7J5v7JaHMco3IgfTrecxneT_BOmJfT4g/w480-h640/IMG_0417.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p>Usually, we go to the performance of the "Nutcracker" that Ballet Austin does at the Long Center but this year we watched it online (a recording from last year). We almost always go on Christmas Eve to the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar and see Christine Albert and Chris Gage. It's canceled this year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDUqDEENX5JrpbvdEcWJdSW0IFBnfXRcs5c2bea0Jexx2IioElsrHZ070VhFrIARZzP4dNgDUf-HoBZvwGRowU06U1zbhhosWMfcq2G1tGuAQcUnVNHRVheFW7RDKgPvMXsHbag/s2048/IMG_4597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDUqDEENX5JrpbvdEcWJdSW0IFBnfXRcs5c2bea0Jexx2IioElsrHZ070VhFrIARZzP4dNgDUf-HoBZvwGRowU06U1zbhhosWMfcq2G1tGuAQcUnVNHRVheFW7RDKgPvMXsHbag/w480-h640/IMG_4597.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div>We aren't big celebrants of New Year's Eve but we usually do something with other people. That's my husband and two of our good gal friends at one of our clubs for a low-key dinner to celebrate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdGjkfvvxsCfHgOUca0joez0G-VvTOHb_53K_PiWKUppczghSblPZoa1RXu8oFXnfB_Qec8Kf-u_kDs2x97WT98LASxJ2DjtA5M3SZprOWTNd-atO5E1MA6-A5JN4IhRlCfDY7A/s2048/IMG_7589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdGjkfvvxsCfHgOUca0joez0G-VvTOHb_53K_PiWKUppczghSblPZoa1RXu8oFXnfB_Qec8Kf-u_kDs2x97WT98LASxJ2DjtA5M3SZprOWTNd-atO5E1MA6-A5JN4IhRlCfDY7A/w480-h640/IMG_7589.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>So it seems the end of the year is drained of everything but starting to worry about taxes and winding up the year. At least we don't have to take the Required Minimum Distribution from our IRAs. Thanks CARES act. And we don't have any elderly parents left to worry over. We have food and shelter and it's certainly a time to realize that not everyone does.</div><div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-89006347653984187122020-12-16T16:40:00.000-06:002020-12-16T16:40:55.585-06:00Outdoor Recreation and Relaxation<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaqZsOd0vDK3eddzJ5gGAoNxQeyVEH9R3SXx2KuCiyng0s8hFr5mcGRSnZW4XMUlXLsk0d6ro4wABcDiOSqc4fGQDsAOeBfITK_Y0iZ-xSyQmnZvbim4MjXYisRPPjdESt2L5wg/s2048/IMG_7021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaqZsOd0vDK3eddzJ5gGAoNxQeyVEH9R3SXx2KuCiyng0s8hFr5mcGRSnZW4XMUlXLsk0d6ro4wABcDiOSqc4fGQDsAOeBfITK_Y0iZ-xSyQmnZvbim4MjXYisRPPjdESt2L5wg/w480-h640/IMG_7021.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>As we have driven around and explored close-in neighborhoods, I have noticed a surfeit of outdoor recreation equipment as well as outdoor furniture, firepits, and such. Above you see fabric suspended from a tree allowing, I assume, kids or adults to perform those aerial dance routines. That was the first sighting of such. But I've seen a ton of trampolines (see background above), basketball goals (some even on trampolines), monkey bars, slacklines, come-alongs between trees strung with handles and swings and such for the budding American Ninja Warrior, badminton nets, rebound nets, soccer nets and more. Traditional swings are around but four-point swings with a bungee-cord woven seat seem especially popular. Lots of people have chairs and tables out. In the summer there were blow-up pools. Now you notice fire pits and chimineras. I've seen paddle courts drawn with chalk on the street. Lots of yards have all sorts of balls laying around. Some of this equipment looks used, up a while or recently dusted off out of a corner of the garage. But a lot of it looks pretty new, maybe bought for this stay-at-home time. I guess the strangest recreation was the (well-fenced) yard with three thick, wood targets obviously for ax throwing. A month or two later we walked by again and they were pretty chewed up!<p></p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-1328777147148117012020-12-15T13:53:00.003-06:002020-12-15T13:53:56.502-06:00Degrees, Honorifics, Misogyny and Books I've Read<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ4OvZ-yGGkbGUjMzblM47qYEp__aMN72cUefrP7M5e5Kdp89lSYHVE7YTrUfshYKHhOjPasK5ERIl-jqz5sir_9QIi-U6jeVZXDqJ4V82OnOHaeHnFggZFsWIsDISEa1s56IYw/s2048/IMG_6987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ4OvZ-yGGkbGUjMzblM47qYEp__aMN72cUefrP7M5e5Kdp89lSYHVE7YTrUfshYKHhOjPasK5ERIl-jqz5sir_9QIi-U6jeVZXDqJ4V82OnOHaeHnFggZFsWIsDISEa1s56IYw/w480-h640/IMG_6987.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I have a BA. A Bachelor of Arts. In Mathematics with a minor in French. My skills in those two subjects being woefully absent in my old age, I don't brag about it too much. I wish I remembered more about differential equations. I wish I'd ever even studied topology. Occasionally I read popular books that touch on mathematics and desperately try to revive something of my training. I have mastered enough French to never stumble over ici, mer, and such in my crosswords. Every year I buy a page-a-day calendar with a French sentence or note about something French six pages a week. (You only get one page for the weekend. It's a cheat.) I went back to college for classes in mathematics, accounting, and business. I never completed any other degree. Therefore, you won't find me bragging about my education or using a title or honorific. And I didn't attend Harvard or anything for that one degree. North Texas State University. Now the University of North Texas. (Why the name change? I don't know.)<p></p><p>Much has been made on social media about <a href="https://www.wsj.com/articles/is-there-a-doctor-in-the-white-house-not-if-you-need-an-m-d-11607727380?reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink">an editorial by Joseph Epstein</a> in <i>The Wall Street Journal</i> in which he excoriates Dr. Jill Biden for using the title. It is dismissive of her because she isn't a medical doctor, has a Doctorate in Education, and wrote a dissertation he described as 'unpromising' perhaps because it mentioned "Community College."</p><p>In this editorial, he admits that he has only a BA and an honorary doctorate. He excoriates his honorary doctorate a bit, but also that of others. He brags about, despite his lack of real degrees, being a lecturer at the prestigious Northwestern and the editor of <i>The American Scholar.</i> </p><p>In a world where we have so many problems that should light up the editorial pages of our major newspapers and social media, this editorial should never have been written. It smacks of misogyny, elitism, whatever. He might have missed that Jill, married to a politician all these years, might want some way to say "I am a woman who has accomplished something in my field, education, not just by getting an advanced degree, but by furthering student's accomplishments."</p><p>But. No, there's not really a but. They shouldn't have published it. It just doesn't matter what he thinks about her use of the title. Like his lack of an advanced degree doesn't matter. </p><p>However. Yes, maybe there is a, however. Around 1999 or 2000 I picked up a book while browsing in a bookstore. "Narcissus Leaves the Pool" by Joseph Epstein. I loved the title and the cover. (Above.) I might have glanced inside at some of the essays. (The title one is about growing old and accepting that one's body will eventually betray our 'getting better every day' mantra.) I read it while we were on a staycation at a local Bed and Breakfast. I loved it. His way with words. His choice of topics. I hadn't thought about it until this controversy arose and, I confess, I didn't remember many specifics about the essays. I never bought another of his books or read him elsewhere that I remember.</p><p>I hunted up the book. Now, I remember. One essay "So to Speak" was about mispronouncing words and names and how embarrassing that can be. I related to that. I grew up maybe reading but never hearing a lot of words. I was excoriated for my Texas accent. I did mispronounce things and it embarrassed me greatly. Once, in Canada (eh) I told my students in a class about Natural Language for a computer system, that the system 'parsed' the words they wrote in the language in a certain way. Someone said I meant passed, haha, and I said 'no, parsed.' Because this person was ignorant of the word parse and they could hear an accent of some kind (eh) they assumed I was adding an 'r' to pass. And yet if they hadn't also been ignorant of accents they would have known that Texans didn't add and subtract 'r's like Bostonians. See how fast we can lash out at others because of our own failings and sensitivities?</p><p>In another essay ("Trivial Pursuits") he talks about giving up watching sports. As some of you may know, I started boycotting football at every level about four years ago. I don't watch news reports (unless it's about the reasons for the boycott) or one down of any game or any ads associated with such broadcasts. I know that it makes no difference. However, I no longer feel complicit in the horrors of the destruction of young men (CTE, joints, undervaluing education), the overshadowing of academics in schools, the turning the other way when crimes are committed, the societal implications that the sport is the ultimate and therefore that women, who only cheer or play an instrument or dance at half time cannot be the best. I feel better for my boycott. I wonder now if this essay allowed me to start the thought process that---after fifty years of watching football (and, yes, enjoying it) and sometimes living and dying (so to speak) with the fortunes of these boys or men---led to this turning away which has been very pleasant.</p><p>Joseph Epstein writes good essays. (And has been richly rewarded, it seems, for that.) He could have written an essay on the sometimes meaningless honorifics and degrees without the ad hominem attack on Dr. Jill Biden. It's obviously something he has thought about a lot since he 'only' has a (real) BA. Like me. When I first worked in computers in the early seventies, I had just graduated from college. But over the years I met a lot of people (especially women) who got into the field from 'traditional' women's jobs in companies that were just acquiring computers and went on to careers every bit as successful as mine or the younger people with degrees in Computer Science. (My university did not offer such a degree when I was there.) This unbalance in potential success and degrees or advanced degrees is a worthy topic. Since Jill has studied Community College education, it is one that she is probably prepared to address as well. </p><p>When the firestorm over this OPED started my husband located this book (which he had never read) and wanted to get rid of it. After having glanced through it to see why I had, in fact, enjoyed it, I think I'd like to read it again. No offense to Dr. Biden. </p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-6040595910288751392020-12-14T11:30:00.001-06:002020-12-14T11:30:13.851-06:00Newspapers<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFBnn2MxjxAnVXF1e-ddsZCbtV0CGGtXXc5w07PtiFVuHMNNAb5AdKp5QsdUQo11EeRtblcmfzlM1zDJpbNnN6W9SsEEMtSkBqIs6TrXzbIfvaIzoCPGCe4YovylbFGxMEnFtKg/s2048/IMG_1257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFBnn2MxjxAnVXF1e-ddsZCbtV0CGGtXXc5w07PtiFVuHMNNAb5AdKp5QsdUQo11EeRtblcmfzlM1zDJpbNnN6W9SsEEMtSkBqIs6TrXzbIfvaIzoCPGCe4YovylbFGxMEnFtKg/w480-h640/IMG_1257.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>They pile up. I am loath to toss them into the recycling bag until I've glanced at them. If a section contains a crossword I haven't worked, I feel compelled to try to fill it in or cut it out for later. At the beginning of the plague time, I would cut them out, thinking that if times got hard the newspapers would stop printing and no more puzzles. Yeah, that hasn't happened. I suppose we could run out of money to subscribe to these tree killers. But that probably won't happen either.<p></p><p>We get <i>The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, </i>and <i>The Austin American-Statesman</i>. (I'm not even going to talk about the magazines we get including the 50 or so times a year <i>The New Yorker</i>.)</p><p>Eventually, they find their way into recycling. Sacks and sacks of them. But not before I've actually read a few articles completely, read a lot of headlines, made notes of entertainment we should see. I always look at the Obits. Not just to see the lives of people, but I like to see the cause of death. And, yeah, complications of COVID-19 is one we now see. <i>The New York Times </i>even has a feature about these deaths.</p><p>I have been collecting links to articles during the plague. A lot of them are about the virus. At least peripherally. This week there was <a href="https://nyti.ms/3guoUof">an article in the <i>NY Times</i></a> about a shortage of, wait for it, antacids!</p><p>By the way, I didn't write yesterday in the blog. Maybe I'll write more today. My excuse? I was trying to read and get rid of some of the newspapers!</p>LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23069883.post-91897193590512061042020-12-12T14:08:00.030-06:002021-03-13T12:45:53.268-06:00COVID-RoutineThere are things to break up and distinguish one day from the next during this self-imposed lockdown. But there is also a routine. I get up around 7 a.m. no matter how late my bedtime was the night before. (It is usually around 12:30 a.m.) This is so I can spend two or more hours doing the following: (1) fetching the papers out of the hallway; (2) getting some coffee; (3) checking the computers for anything urgent; (4) copying the NY Times puzzle for FFP to try his hand; (5) writing a few lines in a paper journal; (6) working the puzzles in the NY Times and maybe reading anything of interest in the Arts Section in which they appear (except for Sunday when it's in the magazine and I make a copy to work); and (7) checking social media and reviewing my memories on Facebook. I do that last one last to avoid being sucked into the vortex of social media and neglecting my puzzles, etc. Two hours? Yes, usually. I may tidy up something in the kitchen. (Like washing my cocktail glass from the night before.) I'll have some more coffee. I may have a discussion with FFP.<br />
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After this, I usually walk. </div>
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We may go outside to walk. This involves getting on our outside shoes, hats (for the sun and to cover increasingly chaotic hairdos), and masks. We take along an antiseptic wipe to use to touch buttons and door handles. We may take out the trash to the chute or some recycling to the parking garage. We almost always drive somewhere and then walk. We don't get in an elevator with others and by driving instead of exiting our building through the main exits we avoid a lot of potential human contact. Plus other non-downtown neighborhoods are less dense with people coming and going. If we go outside to walk, I map the walk with an app on my phone and take pictures of interesting things along the way. I post this on Facebook to entertain my followers. [Do I owe my followers entertainment?]</div>
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I may walk and exercise indoors. I mapped out 130 steps or so around the apartment. I count these laps and try to get in enough steps this way. I may intersperse a few stretches and arm exercises. I may do this inside exercise as an adjunct to the outdoor stroll which usually doesn't qualify as "enough" exercise. Increasingly, if I don't get the outdoor exercise then I don't do anything more. I need to rectify that.</div>
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When I walk inside I leave the computers on my desk on and they go into screensaver mode. I have this set for displaying some of the tens of thousands of images on the disk. Each time I make a lap I see a few pictures. They remind me of people and places and events. Some are from the last few months of isolation. Many are scans from the past, old photos many decades old. People pop up that I had forgotten. People pop up who are no longer with us. Here you are in our neighborhood, here in Paris or London or Dublin. This picture is of a shop window somewhere. This one has strangers in it. Our attention is drawn to people but sometimes, especially as pictures age, it's the cars or the furniture and artifacts in the room that grab us. Here are my parents, on a ship, near the Big Island of Hawaii. Oh, and there are pictures of exquisite food and many shots of drinks, particularly the whiskey drink I favor, the Manhattan. Oh, and pictures of Manhattan, the borough, too. Many of the Empire State building from back in the day when we could stay in a room with a great view of it. Back in the day when we could go anywhere at all and stay in a hotel. There are pictures of museums and the artifacts in them and the people visiting there. There are murals, some you can still find and some long lost to coverings or construction. There are many pictures of the view from our window and the balcony of this apartment where we have lived for twelve years. There are pictures of couples who are no longer together. There are pictures of exquisite food and other people's tattoos. Of parades and performances. Of people's homes and yard art. Of the construction of many buildings with cranes reaching up to points where the building will eventually rise. There are odd cars and odd things found abandoned. Passing this parade of pictures makes me think of life outside this bubble and how I lived it. There are also pictures of shelves inside this apartment and our old house, crammed with books and artifacts and souvenirs and photos. There are many photos of my husband as he walks in front of me. There are flora and fauna, statues and stores. There are many views of our old house and yard.</div>
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When the evening hours come I start thinking about dinner. And drinks. I've not drunk much at home in the past. It seemed we were always out in a bar or restaurant. FFP is my go-to for making my Manhattans (on the rocks), my favorite drink. But, during our isolation, I've branched out. I have him make me Bloody Marys. I have opened old wines and drunk the ones that were still drinkable. I have perfected my recipe for vodka gimlets, "cornered" bottles of cognac and Scotch, bought tonic water for vodka tonics. I am not a gin drinker and imagine myself unable to drink it without consequences but I've been tempted by a few bottles around. I've tried to use up what is here but we've gotten curbside pickup on vodka, Rye, and white and Rosé wines, and mixers. I've made Moscow Mules and Old Pals. After drinks and dinner, I usually check the Travis County COVID numbers. If it's up, I'm sad. If it's down, I don't think it's down enough. If people have died (and they usually have), I wonder who they were. Then we watch movies and television series while reading. I work more puzzles, perhaps. We get <i>The Wall Street Journal</i> (six days) and <i>Austin American-Statesman </i>(seven days) and they have puzzles, too. It's only with the puzzles that I lose myself and lose the sense of where I am and where the world is going.</div><div><br /></div><div>We stay up too late. Maybe I have another drink (although lately I seem to be drinking less) and maybe a snack. Finally I go to bed with some water and a book. I read a few pages and doze.</div>
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LBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13235301676117901791noreply@blogger.com0