I Never Heard So Much About ...

AUSTIN, Texas, April 30, 2004 —

There are topics of conversation that obsess some of the people around me these days. And, I have to say, I don't care too much about some of them.

Right now many people around me seem to be worrying about where their sons and daughters will go to college. I remember having to select a state school near my parents. For financial reasons. I didn't fly around the country touring campuses. Hrumph.

At the charity event I realized that a lot of people, mostly women, are forever organizing these things. Picking bands, caterers, designing invitations, roping people into donating things. I don't want to spend my time this way.

As summer approaches, I hear more and more people talking about their trips. Today I suddenly realized that I no longer care much about other people's trips. I care about my own plans. I used to consume the details of other people's trips gleefully. No more. I don't care if they floated down the Rhine or tramped across the outback if I can't go. I think I'll still look at their pictures, though. I enjoy that for some reason. Bring on your worst vacation photos and I'll look at them.

And what am I not interested in that I'm most ashamed of? Well, politics has to be it. I try to read about it. I try to think I need to cast an intelligent vote about the hospital district. That I need to worry about school financing in Texas. There's a lot of this stuff going around now. On the campaign trail with Kerry and, locally, a lot of issues. I wish I cared more than I do. I wish I thought I had a chance to stop this madness or that.

I Can't Get Started with Me

AUSTIN, Texas, April 29, 2004 —

Ever have one of those days when one thing keeps you from another. So that you are a useless slug?

I had a little free time since I didn't go to the gym. I chatted the insurance guy for heaven's sake.

I watched video and read. I hung out with my friend, going out to lunch and not doing anything in particular. At one point I did a little cleaning and sorting. But everything seemed overwhelming and hard.

Not sleeping. A little not too serious runny nose. And I'm useless. What a wimp!

Current Events

AUSTIN, Texas, April 28, 2004 —

Trying to switch to reading the papers when they are reasonably current gives the news a different spin. Of course, no matter how big the pile of papers gets, I also glance at some things in the ones that arrive every day. Usually anyway.

But the procrastination does put things at a bit of distance. Makes it more like history than current events. Instead of thinking "where is this going?" when you read about some bombings in a new part of the world or a calming of certain strained international relations...you already know from glancing at more recent papers or TV news programs. (Which I often watch, mute, from various areas of the exercise floor at the gym on one of four TVs. Today two were showing, according to the crawler, a car chase in Houston. It was really a truck. I cared not one whit the outcome. If it had been a white Bronco containing O.J. Simpson, I still wouldn't have cared.)

When I was in water aerobics today there was some talk of the current day's local paper. I'd actually seen one of the articles. I was current with events.

Does all this take some of the random fun and pleasure out of my papers? Perhaps. But not to worry. Tonight, distracted by watching and rewatching my fascinating Picasso documentary and some TV I was distracted from actually dispensing with the pile from today and yesterday. So soon my news may be history again.

Downsizing

AUSTIN, Texas, April 27, 2004 —

We talk about it a lot. Right now we have decided that with proper tossing and storage of stuff we could live in a space roughly equivalent to our (newly remodeled) bedroom/bath/closet plus the kitchen and the small room attached to it. It could also be arranged roughly the way this space is, only flipping the breafast room over to combine the space with the small room. We wouldn't have a guest room, extra bathrooms, a big entertainment room, offices for both of us or another living and dining area. Nor a huge storage area that accommodates all manner of stuff. We would need a bit more space for a washer and dryer. But we think we could do it.

The secret would be to replace some of our equipment with more space-efficient stuff and to toss or store a lot (a whole lot) of stuff. That could be done, though. Couldn't it?

While I was cleaning today, my helper challenged me to think about it as if I were moving into the (small) downtown loft. Would you keep it if you were moving? Would you put it in storage? These are probably better than my usual question:. Will you use it again? Will you be able to find it when you want to use it? Does it have value? Monetary? Sentimental?

This is all good advice. I don't know if it helped me in my task but I did give up a lot of stuff today. And I packed some boxes knowing that if I had to downsize and I didn't decide to dump the stuff that the whole box could go to storage.

I'm not really in control of my stuff, nope. But I have a new way to look at it. Sometimes that's the key.

Blocked

AUSTIN, Texas, April 26, 2004 —

In the process of dispensing with the piles of newspapers today I glanced through a Book Review from The New York Times of January 11. Yes, it was this year anyway. They publish an essay at the back that can be pretty good. This one was entitled Just Do It. It was about writer's block. I thought this essay was packed with things I really needed to know. This is why it's a shame not to read the papers I buy.

First off, did you know there is an opposite thing to being blocked? Hypergraphia or compulsive writing. Now, that is something I needed to know given the obsession that this page has become. Maybe you, the long-suffering reader needed to know that, too!

This essay mentioned a book by Alice W. Flaherty called The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer's Block and the Creative Brain. This Alice person is a neurologist. Who has, herself, suffered from hypergraphia.

Now I contend that part of the reason that I don't write (or for that matter complete any other creative projects) is that I flit from one thing to another, distracted and unfocused. And that I displace.

This article is a perfect example. The discovery of hypergraphia in the text urges me to look it up on my favorite dictionary site and I'm distressed when it isn't there. I want to buy the above book (and I have to stop to observe that she seemed to suffer from hypergraphia while writing the title). I have to locate the book on Amazon and add it to my Wish List without drifting off looking at recommendations or special offers.

I become interested in frontal lobe epilepsy for which, this essay claims, hypergraphia is a symptom. I can't prove this on the WEB and when I combine frontal lobe epilepsy with hypergraphia I'm linked back to another article about this Alice Flaherty person. I won't to stop and read it but I don't.

In the middle of that exploration I go to the kitchen for coffee and decide to boil eggs.

But enough about my dabbler behavior. Back to the article. Back to the point.

This article also mentions a 'cure' for minor blocks. "Think up a grand, long-term, world-changing porject ,,, and in your mind invest it with such life-defining importance that everything you do that doesn't contribute to realizing it becomes a waste of time. As long as meeting this week's deadline is a way of avoiding the really big thing that you ought to be doing instead, it becomes much easier."

Now, that explains why I get a little exercise almost every day and why I sit here typing an online journal. I am displacing from a bunch of important projects that would explain life, death, the distance between generations and the essential aesthetic of Austin, Texas. These projects would bring fame, fortune and satisfaction.

Now I just have to move up the food chain. Invent a project beyond the ones I want to get done. Simple, huh?

The above-mentioned essay, where this one leapt from, mentions the "tiny literary genre of books written to explain the nonexistence of other books." I think you are reading a cyber version of that genre.

What is it with the Newspapers?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 25, 2004 —

I'm sure if I had a shrink, he could make something of my newspaper problem.

I love the papers. I love finding articles on places, people and events I'm interested in. I want to be more informed about politics and war although I often recoil.

But they do pile up. First, when I finally get up in the morning I usually spend time in front of the computer before rushing off to the gym. So the papers are unread. Unless FFP brings a section in, comments and hands it to me.

"Here's an interesting obituary," he might say. Weeks later I may actually find it and really read it.

Another thing about reading the papers on the day they arrive is this: as a courtesy to FFP I never remove them from the kitchen until the day is done. He reads in the morning, maybe over lunch or an afternoon cup of coffee. I notice that he's turned to the editorial pages, probably to read the letters to the editor. He paws through the Sports sections. He clips an ad for a client in the real estate section of The Wall Street Journal. Recently he had a letter to the editor printed in that paper and in the Austin American-Statesman. He'll clip those. Naturally, he saves The West Austin News for his clips.

And, yes, there are lots of papers. We pay for The New York Times (daily), The Austin American-Statesman (daily), The Wall Street Journal (weekdays). We pick up the (free) weekly Austin Chronicle. We subscribe to the Austin Business Journal (weekly). We receive The Westlake Picayune although I'm not sure if it arrives every week or just when there is an advertising checking copy. We pick up other little free publications when we are out and about.

I wouldn't take for getting the papers. But they stack up and haunt me.

Occasionally I attack. I round up the errant mounds. I sort out classifieds and sports sections and dismiss them to recycling. Then I sit with some music and some libations and I read. Well, I don't actually read too many complete articles. I scan. I clip. I read parts.

I did this today. I told myself I'd finish before going to sleep. But I didn't. In a six-week-old The New York Times Art section I found an artist I should collect. Xiaoze Xie. Who, according to this story, "makes paintings of stacks of old newspapers that are months, or even years, old. He finds them filed away in libraries, photographs them and carefully reproduces them." He'd have a heydey around here.

I'm compelled to do this. Sort of like this daily journal.

Because I know my life is slipping away. And if I can just scan all the things that are important to me out of this pile and file them in my head or my disorderly filing system, then somehow I can declare victory and move on to something else.

Until the next day arrives and out there, in the dark, twack, twack, twack. New news is thrown.

Togetherness

AUSTIN, Texas, April 24, 2004 —

"How is...what is your wife's name?" Forrest said to the acquaintance from long ago that we bumped into.

"Ex-wife." the guy said and then gave her name.

"How long were you married?" I think FFP asked.

In any case the guy said, "Thirty-five years."

There is a tremendous variety in the amount of time that happy couples actually spend together. Unhappy couples, too, I guess. We saw he wasn't with his wife but still we didn't know.

I think we are a happy couple. We have problems and disagreements but they are minor and we work them out.

But, even though I'm retired and don't go off to work and business trips, we are not together all the time. Not even a lot of the time.

Often we are at the far corners of our approximately 3000 square foot house. We use the multiple phone lines as an intercom. We send each other e-mail questions and reminders. We keep an HTML calendar we can both check on our computers to see where we are supposed to be. He has interviews, meetings, lunches that don't involve me. I have my own tennis matches, lunches and such. We often work out at completely different times. Today I said to the desk person at the gym. "It's a miracle. Number ..., both here at the same time."

Now, we often eat together. Although today FFP heated the frozen entree and watched the NFL draft at his desk in THE ROOM while I ate my dinner at the breakfast table, reading some newspaper.

And we go out to the same events, lots of times. Tonight before the play, we sat next to each other, waiting for the curtain, reading. We often sit next to each other reading or watching TV, each in his own world.

Which is not to say that we don't discuss what we are reading and watching and thinking. We do.

Today we really spent almost our whole day together. Of course, at the gym we weren't working out together. I'd glance over from the bike or bench or treadmill to see him on the elliptical machine or doing situps or something. During the home tour I had to go find him a few times when we wandered off on our tour of balconies, bathrooms and closets.

Togetherness works for us. But we do spend a lot of time apart. I've been on quite a few weekend, weeks long or day trips without him since retirement, for family visits and/or pleasure. I have friends I see for lunch or dinner without him. He has his own things. Maybe it's just the right blend. Alone time with no lonely time.

What are you Saving it For?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 23, 2004 — I mean that's the real issue isn't it? I've been sorting stuff and I have to keep saying 'why are you saving this?' and 'when are you going to use it?' I have many dodges and copouts to keep from throwing things out. I think this comes from a childhood spent wanting more stuff. I was even happy with useless, broken stuff if it came to that. My world was a little empty, I guess. Of stuff I mean. And I imagined I'd find uses for the junk.

Backup is one excuse. Yeah I could find this information on my computer or on the Internet, but what if the electricity was off for forty-seven days or some of my eighteen ways to Christmas backups missed the right file and then I wouldn't know the address scribbled on this scrap of paper?

Then there is the 'spare' theory. This is what saves old phones, various sorts of wires and connectors and such gadgets from the scrap heap. Ditto old keyboards and mice.

Ah, and the best one, maybe, is the 'this would make a great addition to one of my found object sculptures or collages. Now, it's true that I occasionally make a greeting card by hand that is sort of a collage. I have an entire box of scraps of paper and clippings and photos that could be used for these. Truth is I usually print something off a clip site or my computer for these projects anyway. And as far as the sculptures go, well, FFP says that I'm going to make a found object sculpture for this one corner of the room that looks good with his paintings but I don't know if he believes I will and I sure doubt it.

Another unbeatable excuse is the 'this would be useful to someone.' Now, if that someone is not you then you should sell it or give it away, right? And I do assemble sacks and boxes full of stuff to do just that with. Then I wonder whether I should have a garage sale (which I never do) or give the stuff to a thrift store (I do this a lot) or just set up my free sign and pile it on the curb. I do the curbside mall fairly often. Of course, you could run ads, sell on ebay or Craig's list or something, too. You could. I never do.

Sometimes I think "this is valuable" and I should get money for it. I wish when I thought this that it was true (sometimes I wonder) and that I would realize that I could donate it to charity and they could get something out of it. I give cash to charity without a thought. So why is this such a leap?

Gradually, though, I move the stuff around, demote it to a spot of less importance (like a box full of other useless things) and finally, finally get it out of my life.

Why's it so dang hard?

Listen to Your Readers

AUSTIN, Texas, April 22, 2004 — The subject of the e-mail was "Columbine?" For those of you who think I don't listen to all five of my readers, this essay is for you.

The note began: "And, in the list of what you've already forgotten - what about Columbine on 4/20? Breaks my heart when young people die."

Well, to tell you the truth (and I have a problem with truth since I always want to tell it) I didn't remember the date. And, as you know, I'm notorious about reading the papers three days later so I miss the anniversary stuff and I was probably finishing up the April 19th entry on the 20th. But I haven't forgotten Columbine and doubtless ever could. Only the name not the date calls up the event. Or the name of the suburb served by Columbine High: Littleton.

On April 20, 1999, I was at work at my old company. A TV in the lounge area was tuned to CNN or something. The breaking story mesmerized people as they came into the break room for a coffee or soda or snacks or passed on the way to the restrooms. One of my colleagues had a niece at school that day. One of my nieces graduated from the school (although it was in 1986) but a young man who was very close to my sister's family was there that day. Both were safe. But it was frightening. My sister was in a rehab hospital, struggling to learn to walk again after her cranial aneurysm rupture in December 1998. The family was worried that angst over a kid she considered almost a son would upset her, I remember.

Yep, my sister's family has lived in Littleton for decades. I've mentioned that after seeing Bowling for Columbine I was struck with the similarity of the scenes and people in Littleton to my sister's family and neighborhood.

For a few years after 1999, when I said "Littleton" in response to the question "Where does your sister's family live?" people gaped. Of course, I usually say "Denver" anyway just like you say "Dallas" for Plano or Richardson. But if people know the area and probe I would say "Littleton." Now people don't blink. They probably remember "Columbine" but may have even lost track of it as a Denver suburb.

I wonder how many people know that Columbine is a flower, the state flower of Colorado?

Isn't it interesting how the 'shorthand' influences what we remember. It isn't "the destruction of the WTC, part of the Pentagon and a plane goes down in Pennsylvania" but "9/11." It isn't "a Littleton, Co. High School duo at a school named for the state flower kills thirteen and themselves" but "Columbine." It's "Oklahoma City bombing" maybe. And the details that the shorthand stands for become lost. Someday the Pentagon or the Pennsylvania field will be vague for some people.

Thanks for the mail, reader.

Setting Priorities

AUSTIN, Texas, April 21, 2004 — Everyone says you should do it. But how can you not?

Each moment is a choice. I type this sentence, destined for online reading by my contingent of four or five readers. Why do this? And not something else?

When I choose to spend two or three hours going to the club and taking two showers, there are tons of things I obviously won't get to do.

When I choose to linger over lunch talking about someone else's project and how to get it developed, I'm not doing something else.

And when I sort through vet receipts or pick up a particular thing to read, I'm giving it a priority.

You can't escape setting them. Each thing you do is getting priority. What's hard is deciding which things to elevate to the actual doing.

Everyone is Entitled to an Opinion

AUSTIN, Texas, April 20, 2004 — Today we conducted a focus group at Fonda San Miguel. We wanted the participants to be critical so that the owners could consider changes. Restaurant Fonda San Miguel will have its thirtieth anniversary next year. They have certainly changed lots of things over the years. But you have to be on your toes.

It's funny what some people notice and others don't. It's funny that one person will think that certain things are important (the table decorations, whether waiters say 'you guys' to ladies, whether there is happy hour pricing) and another won't notice. It's amusing that prices are as elastic as they are. To a point a price increase won't cut down on the crowds. But a full parking lot can drive people away.

Everyone is entitled to an opinion. But unless yours is shared by vast numbers of people, it is unlikely to have an effect. Unless maybe you get to be in a focus group.

Forgotten Anniversaries?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 19, 2004 — One bit of news pushes the last one out of our heads. 9/11 still has its sting. But April 19th?

One wonders, though, what the event will be that will reclassify 9/11. It will have to be pretty dramatic. But, trust me, it will happen.

The other night FFP and I were talking to someone twenty years our junior. We mentioned that we were interested in the upcoming anniversary of D-Day. The person did not know where it would be. And she thought maybe FFP was there when it happened. In not much time, the people who remember D-Day firsthand will be gone. We weren't born when D-Day happened but WWII so influenced our parents that, I think, it is rather fresh for us. But we will fade and go, too.

The same evolution will happen with 9/11. If some large catastrophe intervenes to take mental space, it will get pushed aside sooner.

How many people really paused to remember the people in the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building today? Killed in '93. And how many people know that Timothy McVeigh blew it up on the (second) anniversary of the Branch Davidian massacre in Waco? All fresh in your mind now? And Tim? What happened to him? Well, he was executed, reportedly without remorse on June 11, 2001.

What Goes on in your Head?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 18, 2004 — Wouldn't it be great if we were really in control. Not of events. But of how we respond to them.

Some days things go awry and it's easy to see a reason to feel down. Or you just read the papers and it's so discouraging.

Other days things are going your way. There is honestly nothing to complain about. And the world may even take a break from the senseless killings and stuff. (OK, maybe not.)

But you tend to feel up or down rather independently of these things.

Now why the heck is that?

Clothes and the Comfort Zone

AUSTIN, Texas, April 17, 2004 — It's funny how we feel about clothes. How there are some things people wear and look great in and everything but you would never consider it.

The first big divide is the gender thing. There is a gender divide about clothing even though today the line is more subtle. Especially for casual wear. Jeans, shorts, T-Shirts, athletic or hiking shoes.

Today, though, I participated in two things where the gender divide is most pronounced: tennis and black tie events. Now in tennis you can ignore the skirts, sleeveless tops and the special panties that cover up your private parts and have upside down elastic pockets for balls. (It sounds strange and vaguely pornographic but it's not really. Really.) Unless you are on a team where they pick uniforms, you can skip that wear. That is the only time I've worn a tennis skirt and one of those sleeveless tops, actually. I was on a team. It was fine, actually, fairly comfortable. But I prefer shorts. It's easier to stuff balls in the pockets. And I'm just more comfortable.

Now, go to a big deal black-tie event and you will see lots of long dresses with maybe some decolletage. OK, for sure on the low necklines. Probably a lot of that, decolltage (cool word), necklines plunging, long sleek skirts, strapless with lots of shoulder maybe too. Nevermind that a woman my age (and weight) doesn't always look great in these outfits. I'm just not comfortable in them. Have worn long dresses (although probably not ever anything approaching the outfits that are common at these things). Didn't like it. Ah, yes, how I envy the men in their tuxes. I can even tie a bow tie! Yeah, the studs are a pain (but you can get covered placket shirts and skip them), the cumberbund a bit challenging for the portly (vests are a nice alternative), but there you are: you've got pockets for your wallet and keys, you are always warm enough if the air conditioning or evening becomes chilly. The pants are comfortable. And you can wear the same damn outfit over and over. (Although himself in this house likes to mix up the accessories and has a variety of suspenders, cumberbunds, vests, bow ties, studs, shirts and links.)

Now, of course, I've done the tux thing. About ten or fifteen years ago, there was a tuxedo 'look' popular for women. I embraced it and had a tuxedo tailored for me, bought a few pleated shirts and some vests at a discount place. But, like all my other black tie, outfits, it wore thin. And I don't mean the material. I mean that people expect women to wear something they haven't seen before. I hate that.

For this evening, I have drug out black velvet pants and a (high-necked) black velvet top and a short jacket I got somewhere which is the most Russian look I could muster. I'll be wishing for some pockets since my collection (two) of evening purses doesn't include one that goes with this jacket. This outfit, though, it one of the few that I have that looks good with gold jewelry. So I'll be wearing my one diamond on a gold chain. And a gold watch. (Purchased in Switzerland in 1975.)

My whole life I've been envious of what men got to wear. It isn't so bad now given the acceptability in the twenty-first century of women in pants or jeans and tailored jackets for most occasions. But when the occasion is tennis, I always look very different from the other gals. A pair of shorts and a polo shirt. And when it's black tie, I manage to get under the radar but I'm squirming. Not unlike that kid who couldn't wait to get home from school and put on jeans and a T-Shirt.

I don't know why clothes are so emotional for people, but they are. I understand cross-dressers and little kids who pitch fits about their most and least favorite clothes. I understand people who like certain ways of dressing beyond all reason. The clothes we wear are all about emotion in our rich society. Modesty, warmth and comfort are minor issues.

I'm Not Good with People

AUSTIN, Texas, April 16, 2004 — Today I'll be going to a party and playing tennis with a lot of people that I don't know well or at all.

Really until I know someone really well, I'm uncomfortable with people. I deal with it, of course. Sometimes a little (just a little) alcohol helps. I'm better if the people are pretty self-centered and I can mostly listen and wait for my moment to say something.

Don't get me wrong. I love to talk. When I'm listening to other people talk and I think of something to say, I can't wait to say it.

Still I'm nervous with new people. My brain shuts down for remembering their names. Especially if there are too many of them. If I've met them before I'm worried to remember when and where.

Everyone is always surprised at this. They think that I'm outgoing and garrulous. An extrovert. And I'm pretty sure this is the face that I put on. It is what is expected in social situations. And I can really enjoy it once I get into my act.

But inside you will find an introvert, more comfortable in her room, alone. You can behave one way but inside you are what you are. I read an article once that talked about research into shyness. They found that infants who were more sensitive to changes in light in their surroundings were predictably shy at five or six years old (as judged by willingness to interact with new playmates). This proved, they believed, that shyness was related to sensitivity to surroundings and changes in it and probably an innate characteristic. So I didn't learn to be shy on the farm, alone with few playmates. I just was shy. Maybe. And whatever my acquaintances believe from the outside...I always will be shy.

I Already Filed

AUSTIN, Texas, April 15, 2004 — Someone speculates that the club is a little quiet today because it is April 15. Oh, yeah. I filed long ago. I would have filed even sooner if I could have gotten all the correct paperwork. Because I'm getting a refund. Hasn't come yet, though. Not earning a cent for an entire year can get you a tax refund.

I used to worry more about taxes. Now I do the best I can to get it all in there and right and pay what's required and no more. Not worth fretting over.

Also at the club I hear a conversation about someone trying to sort out a stock sale where the stock was partly inherited and co-mingled with other stock. Yeah, that stuff is tough. But you just do your best to figure out the basis and wait for the IRS to call.

My advice is to deal with the authorities and go on. Try to avoid the obviously illegal tax shelters and underreporting. Be glad we live in a country where the rules sometimes hold from one administration to another and no one knocks on your door to tell you that you are going to a camp and your stuff belongs to whoever. In the U.S. of A. we only treat a small number of people that way. I would say 'noone' but then some of this Homeland Security stuff comes to mind.

My friends write, damnit!

AUSTIN, Texas, April 14, 2004 — I have a friend who has been retired one year longer than I have. He has written a play! Yes, and had someone review and done rewrites. He says he is going to let me read it. I can't believe it. Someone who sticks to it and writes something.

Another friend, who is busy with work and such, sends the prologue to his crime novel for FFP and I to review.

I mean, in one day, two friends are sending me stuff they have actually written, edited, crafted, worked on. They have focused and completed something. It doesn't matter whether it's good or not. They completed something. (I have read one and not the other but my feeling, so far, is that they have a chance with their pieces, both of them.)

Will this prod me to take one of my writing ideas and get on with it? Probably not. I need to choose something and concentrate on it. This is not my style. Besides I'm wasting my time typing away on not writing!

What is that about leading the unexamined life? I think I lead the over-examined life to the detriment of actual accomplishment.

The Problem with NOT Working?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 13, 2004 — I'm trying to decide when to get off the recumbent bike, how many minutes to put in, and what to do when I get off. I am reading but I'm also worrying about how I spend my time.

This is the problem, I decide, with not working. When you work, you think, "When I don't have to work, I'll have time to do...." whatever. Or you muse, "I will really get this done right when I no longer work." This is reassuring. It is not your fault that you aren't playing more tennis, working out properly, spending time with friends and family, learning more about WEB pages or organizing your affairs of your life for when you are gone. No, it's this work you have to devote forty hours, usually more, to every week. It's the time to get ready, commute, work, bitch about working, worry about your work. That's the problem. It's keeping you from doing these things or doing them justice.

It is comforting when you are doing something creative or altruistic or good for your body that you are finding time for it even though you might not be doing it well. You will do better, you would do better if only, if only you didn't have to work.

Then you aren't working. If you let yourself, you can fret the whole time. You can fret over whether to stay on the exercise bike for a few more minutes, whether to do a weight program today. You can fret over what projects to start or finish today. Now that you have time to read, you can fret over what book or magazine to choose.

That's the problem with not working. You come face-to-face with your real choices and real limitations. And you have nothing to blame the failures on but yourself and the relentless march of the clock.

When Has Time Passed You By?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 12, 2004 — When we walk in the house to visit my dad's cousin, she says "I was working the crossword puzzle." A few months ago when we visited she said she'd gotten a brand new dictionary for a present recently.

The after effects of a broken hip, arthritis and osteoporosis have taken the bounce out of her step, but not her mind.

I have a few old relatives who have missed the last train. They won't be working the crossword puzzle today and no one will consider buying them a dictionary. And, if someone is coming to visit on a Monday when lots of places are closed in the Hill Country where she lives, they won't pull out lots of menus and ads for restaurants that are open and get the directions to them.

She can't drive and her children find time to come by as best they can. I suspect she can get lonely. But life hasn't passed her by.

The Latest Gadget

AUSTIN, Texas, April 11, 2004 — I'm standing in my friends' kitchen. We were all talking about things we hate about e-mail or stuff that went wrong with it. Then I'm talking to one of the guys about cable. He says I should get one of those digital recorder things from the cable company. "My friend says you have to get one."

Funny but a reader suggested TIVO the other day.

I know everyone thinks I'm the ultimate consumer of the new technology. And I guess I want to be in some ways. But it's gotta stop.

I have a stack of abandoned computer gear in the storage room. OK, some of the boxes have busted hard drives and they are all obsolete technology. But my point is that I'm trying to scale back. We already have cable in every room and DVD players on a couple of sets and all that. We are subscribing to that Netflix thing because it's not enough that we have all these movie channels. I have four different printers in use. And one in the storage room. Or two. Do they work?

I have this old Jazz drive still installed. I never use it. I have a new external hard drive with many times more capacity.

I have this old SCSI scanner (hooked up to an ancient WIN95 machine which is also supporting the Jazz drive). I keep thinking I should get a sleeker one with USB 2.0 connections and get rid of all that junk.

All this dead equipment makes me sad. And don't think I haven't gotten rid of tons of it already. I have. My curbside mall ("everything one low price: free") has moved a couple of truckloads of obsolete technology off the grounds.

Still, there's the desire to have the latest gadget. A smaller laptop, a graphics tablet, move DVDs, a DVD recorder, a GPS gadget. I haven't got a single plasma or LCD TV yet. (Although two of our monitors are now flat panels.) And software! Yeah, I think I should upgrade my Dreamweaver and Fireworks to MX. And probably there is other software I need.

But the truth is: no gadget will give me the time to think, the will to write and create. In fact, they may be in the way.

Nature Takes its Course

AUSTIN, Texas, April 10, 2004 — Nature has its way, eventually. Things die, weather comes and does its will. Spring brings strawberries and summer ends them. Flowers bloom and go to seed. Dogs eat chickens. Roosters do what roosters do.

We spend our days fighting against it. Moving dust away, putting on another coat of paint, exercising, showering, taking out the trash, repairing, trying to keep nature at bay.

It seems like we succeed. Out at Boggy Creek Farm a tornado ripped a huge tree up and spun it on its roots and crashed into the house in a tornado in 2001. They repaired the damage. Went on and have their nice little farm back again. Dogs got into the chicken coop. They got more chickens.

But nature wins in the end. Weather wears things down, animals live and die and man makes wars. Yep nature takes its course. It's best not to forget it.

New Formats for New Thoughts?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 9, 2004 — Today marks a change in your beloved daily read, The Visible Woman (www.viswoman.com). Today will begin a period of confusion and reordering for reader and writer alike.

The question is: will the format bring new thought, freshness, vitality to the venue? Or will it just be another banch of unfinished business and broken links.

I tried to think about what I liked about all the formats I have tried. How easy was it to update? To find things later? Which 'features' did I enjoy when rereading? What kind of mistakes did I make?

I also thought of giving up some of the 'features.' Surprisingly, though, I enjoy rereading 'Just Typing' after some time has gone by. (Much of my reason for this journal is to have my own record. It's really not about you, reader, as much as I love some of you.) I'm convinced that my food diary is going to someday be a great resource for nutrition scientists and the basis for my first best seller, The All Cheese Diet. Some of the sections, however, are tedtious to update daily. I make mistakes and leave the contents from the day before or just do it on purpose. Boring repetitive pixels with each day being updated on its own.

So....here's the way we will be organized from now on (or until it changes which it doubtless will): Each month I'll start a page for all the things you see in the column to the right. I'll update each entry with a place and date line and push the old stuff down. At the end of the month, I'll start a new page and put a link to the prior month. I'll still have calendars with some daily links to spots, perhaps. Perhaps not. I may still have a index to essays by topic and date. When I have nothing to say in one of the 'features' I just won't update the page. The 'last updated' link on the cover will, generally, take you to this page. Unless I don't write an essay...in which case it might lead to the chronology or whatever I decide to provide in the spirit of updating daily.

To limit download times, I may occasionally split the pages into multiple files during a month. And I'll handle photos in some sort of archiving fashion.

I think it will be easier on me but then when I read the above I kind of doubt it! But it's different. You, dear reader, are free to comment but you know how rarely I listen.

Got that? No? Well, just keep clicking and see what happens!