The Visible Woman Speaks (Coherently?)

Levels of the Game

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 30, 2004 — I read a book or article maybe, maybe by John McPhee and about, I'm almost sure, tennis. It was called Levels of the Game. I loved the phrase. Ah here is the book (probably originally published in The New Yorker). It seems to me that it talked about how there is tennis and then there is tennis like Arthur Ashe played.

Yeah, there are parties and then there are parties. To me, the top of the game is having a lovely home with white-coated Four Seasons waiters passing around wine. The top of the game is having a quartet that your money helped make resident at UT play a concert for your friends in a newly remodeled room full of your fabulous art and collectibles. Having the executive chef of the Four Seasons overseeing the buffet.

Yeah, I have parties, too. Sometimes they are pretty wonderful. People comment that they've never been to a better party. But, I assure you, there are levels of the game. I'm sure there are parties I'll never be invited to that are somewhere up in the ozone from here. But I can't really imagine a better one. That trite phrase "it doesn't get any better than this" springs to mind.

Pets

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 29, 2004 — People are funny with their pets. We are a little more cavalier about their health care than we are with our own. No privacy concerns so you can hear the conversations of vet and owner while you sit in the waiting room of the vet's office.

We also make more reasonable decisions about their health care. If you have a seriously ill or injured animal then at some point you make decisions that say intervention is too expensive or too pointless. We euthanize our little friends and know we are doing the right thing. Of course, we don't (usually) have health insurance for them.

Should how much it costs matter in intervention for health care? Of course. Just because transplanting human organs or supporting life with expensive treatments and drugs is possible doesn't mean that we should do it. Just because someone is still 'alive' doesn't mean that the most humane thing might not be a lethal injection.

We should look at how we treat our pets. And wonder about our own health care interventions.

Home

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 28, 2004 — I love to 'get away.' Even spending some time in a nondescript hotel room is something different. But there is really no place like home.

You are comfortable with the way to get a cup of coffee, you can watch the TV you want, you have access to all your own stuff. And your own bed.

And in your own town, it is easy to drive somewhere and find something interesting.

I like to see what Dallas and Mesquite are up to, visit in my relatives' abodes. But I love getting home.

Traditions

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 27, 2004 — Traditions give us something to do when we can't really make it up. Inventing all the time is tiresome. Habits and traditions save us there.

For quite a few years my dad and I (and Mom when she was alive) have had Thanksgiving with a segment of my Dad's family. Two of his sisters and the one's offspring. With other people thrown in the mix here and there. My sister's brood came to some of the events. It has been in different locations. One of Dad's sisters has so many folks (she has eleven grandkids) that they gather independently. In West Texas. But we have gathered this other branch of the Balls at various places...my parents' old house in Mesquite, my house and, most of the time, my cousin Bob's house in University Park which is, Dallas virtually.

We have the turkey, of course, and then eat it leftover. We have other traditional food, too. Sweet potato casserole and creamed onions, dressing, gravy, pies. There are usually some surprises. Cranberry salsa. A new vegetable. Then the turkey is transformed by my cousin into stews or whatever. Sandwiches, of course. And barbeque finds its way into the meals as the holiday weekend wears on.

We went to see Toy Story one year. The younger kids were seven. We decided seeing a kid's movie on Thanksgiving or the day after was a good tradition. Even with the little guys now having low voices and being taller than their mothers, we try to keep doing it. Saw The Incredibles this year. Youngest of the crew was seventeen.

I joked a couple of times that "in order to have a tradition you have to be flexible" or "the important thing about tradition is absorbing change." It's true, though. You can have traditions and rely on them without being stuffy. Just so you don't forget the cherry pie.

So Homey

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 26, 2004 — There are lots fancier places to be than my cousin Bob's house although I suspect the land the house stands on, at the corner of Hillcrest and Lover's Lane in Dallas, is worth more than all my property. But there aren't many homier places than this house on this day. At one point, the leftovers (with an additional choice of barbecue) dinner done, I was sitting alone in their living room reading a book. There was sheet music and the remnants of one of the girl's kniitting scattered around. My cousin's wife was sewing on one end of the dining table, modifying a old formal for her twenty-one-year-old daughter. At the other end of that big table, in a room with the wall choc-a-bloc with the family's art, a game of Spinner (played with a set of special double nine plus wild 'spinner' dominoes) was going on. One of the girls played the piano softly. In the back room, a jigsaw puzzle was driving some folks crazy.

Very homey. The kind of scene I need at least once during the holidays for nostalgia's sake.

Never Feel that Safe Again

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 25, 2004 — It's funny being here in Mesquite. My parents used to live here. From 1966-2000 they lived here. Dad and I are staying in a hotel here because my aunt and uncle live nearby in an apartment from November through March. My mother initially found this place for them, near my mom and dad's house, and they've returned most years for the last decade to escape the harsh Maine winters. Even when my parents moved to Austin, they've kept coming back. So when my dad and I come up during the winter we stay over here in Mesquite where the hotel is cheap, near my aunt and uncle.

When we drive between the hotel and my aunt and uncle's apartment we go right by the street where my parents lived. When they moved here there was nothing out here. Now there are schools, parks, shopping centers, additional highways and every chain restaurant known to man.

My parents moved here after I graduated from high school. But I remember how I loved coming home to this place. The house (a mundane middle-class ranch house that was my mother's dream house) had a fireplace. I'd come home from school for Christmas holidays and prop my feet on the fireplace and pretend to study. I always felt safe there. I wanted to go out in the world, leave again soon, just like all kids. But retreating into this house was escaping the responsibility of being grown up for a while. Nice.

Yeah, the drive to be independent drove me away. And my parents became more fragile and turned the equation around. I'll never feel that safe again. That's just the way it is.

It's Not Cosmic

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 24, 2004 — Things happen. Things drop and break and drip and stain. You forget things. Dishes burn or just turn out poorly.

It all seems very important at the time. But in the final analysis most of the things that happen to us don't matter much. The things that really change our course don't come along every day.

Put another way, our lives have very dull plots. When fiction writers try to move a story along, give motivation, make people change, they have to invent events that may seem outrageous to some of us. Sure we read about accidents and buildings falling down and lightning strikes in the paper. But it isn't often that we are central figures in these stories.

As we dance through our mostly mundane lives, sometimes we stop and recount events that are sort of cosmic, to us or others, at which we were witnesses. To reassure ourselves that important things do happen, and may well happen again.

A Weird Edge

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 23, 2004 — Sometimes weird things just sort of happen. It's like you are caught in a weird edge place where things can happen that ordinarily wouldn't. Like Rube Goldberg machines where, yeah, all these little marbles falling and levers flipping could interact like this but when do they? Sure power outages happen but at just THIS moment. Sure trees fall, rain storms edge and flow. But only once and a while do these things seem to have a sense of humor.

Who'll Stop the Rain

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 22, 2004 — When a weather pattern settles in, it's hard to see that it will ever end. You adapt. If it's always raining, you should, if you are smart, start remembering your umbrella and jacket. Wear your water-resistant boots.

When it stops, it's hard to remember the sky can open up and dump things on you. On still day, it's hard to remember the wind.

This failing memory of awful weather accounts for some of our unreasonable optimism. It is responsible for building close to beaches, for the erecting of those wind-magnet mobile homes and for the fact that we go out without taking jackets and umbrellas, just in case.

TV Wasteland

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 21, 2004 — Back in the Sixties, I think it was, someone described TV as a 'wasteland.' Indeed, there is an entry on Wikipedia describing the speech. It was 1961 and Newton Minow was FCC chairman. There were three networks.

But the DVR I rented from my cable company has made me realize that even after buying extra channels showing old and new programming, movies, news that there isn't anything very entertaining here. I thought that when I could scout out programming and just bring it into my time slot, I'd find plenty of stuff. But I don't know. Maybe I should start watching news programs. I have been trying, though, to cover some popular culture vectors. But there are still lots of things I could just never, ever watch.

I find it significant that, no matter how engaging the program I watch, even when it's a DVD, I never sit in front of the tube without some reading or writing material. Minow said:

Another thing the DVR has taught me is that the commercials give you a valuable respite to jump up and go to the toilet or get food or check your e-mail. Not to mention a chance to get some more reading material. So while it is seductive to fast forward by them and seam together the program, compressing it into less time, it is hard on the nerves and the bladder.

I have found however how vapid my favorite game show (Who Wants to be a Millionaire) actually is. I fast forward through all the lip flapping conversation, audience polls, phone a friends, commercials and easy questions. There isn't much left. I can watch the show in five minutes.

Giving Gadgets

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 20, 2004 — I often consider buying gadgets for gifts. It is usually a bad idea, but it doesn't keep me from thinking about it.

I read in The New York Times that people are giving digital cameras, mostly, but what people want is flat screen TVs.

I gave a digital camera to each of my nieces, a couple of years apart. They both have used them, at least a bit. That's better than you usually achieve. I know my sister has expressed an interest in having one. But what to buy? Will her daughters help her interface it with the computer or can she just go to a local store and pop the card into a kiosk and make prints? Should I get a cheap, three megapixel one? Should I buy a high capacity card and extra battery as I did for the kids?

Knowing Advice

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 19, 2004 — It's funny when and where people feel justified giving advice. If you live in a town, then you naturally feel both justified and somehow obligated to know the best places to eat, to listen to music.

If you have money and station above someone else, you may feel that you know things they don't. About life, fund raising, even history. And sometimes you do.

It's best, though, not to give advice. Or, if you do, to temper it with the phrase I always use: "Free advice, worth every penny."

Young Friends

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 18, 2004 — Forrest and I have always had friends of all ages. Partly because we have no children, I think. Some people, because they socialize with the parents of their children's friends, Or maybe they just make friends in school and college and law school or whatever and that forms the basis of their friendships. If you have kids (or relatives who live close by) then you have some inter-generational things going on.

Anyway, I'm not all that sure where other people draw for their friends but we like to have some young ones. They are excited about life, they are trying to build careers. Maybe they quit ballet dancing and head back to school to conquer law school. Maybe they are trying to recall and redefine jazz standards.

Young people will go off on trips at the drop of a hat. They will wait tables while reading about heavy scientific subjects at home. They will move to New York for a while and then come back because of a boyfriend in a popular local band. They will make movies and try to live on air while making more movies.

Young people are exciting, changing, full of possibilities. We listen to them about events, music to listen to, books to read.

I won't say it keeps us young. But it does make being old a little more exciting.

Trip Planning

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 17, 2004 — Trips all start with the idea that 'around this time' maybe I'll go 'there.' Or someone says 'this' is happening 'there' so want to go? Then you have to secure the agreement of travel companions and arrange flights and a place to stay. Then maybe reservations for meals, shows. You have to collect guindance on museums and sights. From books, friends. Then the time comes and you pack it up. Go. Do. Come home and organize your pictures and journal.

I'm going back to Cape Town next year. I ended up, after negotiating with Delta for a free (well, the taxes were $75) ticket, with two weeks plus a weekend in Africa. I have to go to Atlanta and spend the night and then burn another day each way, though, so it's a lot of time to be gone.

If I worked, it would be fifteen days of vacation. Oh, yeah, if your work you have to worry about having enough vacation. At my best, working, I got twenty-five days of vacation. I've already scheduled a trip to New York next year that would burn four days. So, if I still worked I'd be looking at six more vacation days. Maybe time for a vacation to a U.S. city or combined with a holiday or something, a short trip elsewhere. This is why I retired: to have this kind of time for traveling.

Of course, in planning to be gone, you also miss things going on here. This trip is so far in advance that I know I'll miss things (a ballet performance? an opera? parties?) but I don't know what. That's OK, though. You'd never go anywhere if you tried to take advantage of everything in Austin. Heck, we miss Austin events because of Austin events. (And we miss others, like the Austin City Limits festival, because we can't take crowds but that's another story.)

Sketching the flights in on the calendar is just the beginning of trip planning. I'll stay with my friend in the Cape most of the time so I don't need a hotel or car. Driving. Left side of road. Scary. I'll have to get a hotel overnight in Atlanta. If we go on a side trip while I'm in SA, we have to plan that. With someone 'on the ground' on that end...not as many plans as usual. Of course, soon I'll start thinking about dinner reservations in New York and also what shows (jazz, cabaret, Broadway?) we might see. We'll plan some meet-ups...with friends visiting and friends who live in the city or nearby.

There will be packing lists and plans. Folders with tickets and confirmations. And, when I return, downloading photos, writing journals, stashing away souvenirs and memories.

The Root Causes of Procrastination

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 16, 2004 — Why do I dive into one thing and put off another? What makes me keep something on my to do list that might as well be on the to don't list?

One big factor in procrastination, I think, is fear of failure. Learning to use the big DV camera I have leads, in my mind, to more knowledge about movie-making that I can parlay into an avocation if not an old age vocation. Similarly, writing a script, learning how to format it, seems, in the ether of the to do list, a wonderful idea. Much more wonderful in the not doing.

The same goes for organizing my photos, the files on my computer and my closets. The imagined result is so much more satisfying than any time spent trying to actually do it.

On the other hand, doing some things seems easier than thinking about them any longer. Little mundane errands. Writing 'thank you' notes or doing the monthly budget. You pretty much know the satisfaction of doing it. It's not this huge time commitment. And things like working out every day, well, they are their own reward. You actually feel better immediately. Plus I love sitting on the exercise bike, pedalling piously while reading. Sometimes I put off going while I update my journal or something. But I know the satisfaction of getting it done. Something pulls me out of the putting off.

I always put off things that involve using the phone. I don't like talking on the phone. I will actually write on my to do list that I should phone someone about something. Even though just phoning up and getting it done would be the smart thing.

Yeah, there is procrastination because you fear the result. Situations where imagining doing it is more satisfying than doing it. Then there is procrastination because you really hate doing it. I suffer from both. Then there are things that I just do, no hesitation.

My favorite things to procrastinate? The things that, if you put them off, sometimes become altogether unnecessary.

Choosing What to Do

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 15, 2004 — As is often the case, my head buzzed with 'things to do' while I was doing my workout. Flashing through my mind...finishing my holiday (Thanksgiving-themed) card mailing, helping dad but saucers under the plants we took to his sun porch, doing the family budget, getting something together for my sister's birthday, doing some more work on FFP's computer and backups, installing and trying the software I bought, finishing my book, buying a couple of things at the grocery store. Probably there were other things that flashed by in the cleaning out, getting rid of, game. I know I thought about cleaning out the frig.

When I was thinking about going to the store, I'm sure that I thought of getting some frozen chopped spinach for my spinach casserole for Thanksgiving but, when I got to the store, all I bought was green onions, broccoli, carrots, sliced cheese for FFP, a loaf of bread. So, yeah, I went to my dad's house and in a couple of minutes got all the plants on a saucer so he could water them. We already had cardboard underneath them. I stopped off at the store on the way back. I did work on my cards before going out to our evening event. I never finished my book (which I'd forgotten to take to the club), I didn't get the software installed. I still don't have anything done for my sister's birthday. (But it's after Thanksgiving so I have time to put that one off.)

I am retired. I have all this time. What do I choose to do? I'm glad I choose for exercise since it genuinely gives me more energy (if less time) for other things. But beyond that the choices are tougher? Read this, study that, do these errands? I'm going to get better at setting priorities, I swear. But when??

Forced to Explain Myself

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 14, 2004 — I try, when people ask what I do, to simply say I'm retired. But the more perceptive the audience, the less often I get away with that. People dig a little deeper. Tonight this woman at the party ask me to describe how I spent my day. If I say I'm reading books, people want to know what books. If my journal comes up, they want to know why I post it online where others can read it.

Of course, I ask myself these questions all the time. What do I do with my time? Why do I do this journal?

Still, it's hard when someone else is doing the asking. It was easier when I had a job. People expected far less explanation for my avocations!

When You Are Forced to Stop and Socialize

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 13, 2004 — When no one is around except for Forrest and I, I feel compelled to 'get things done.' Somehow reading newspapers or watching TV or video doesn't count. But if we have visitors I can sit and read newspapers, work puzzles and watch football with them. And feel like I'm socializing. Since everyone else is interested in the game. I feel much more relaxed and less compelled to be in front of my computer. Even typing this journal feels like I'm doing something 'real' reather than 'goofing off.' When, in fact, it's all about the same in worth to society or me. It's an illusion.

Shopping

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 12, 2004 — I try not to shop on impulse. I know it's probably better to decide what you need, research it and buy it. And I do that a little. I make lists. I look at ads and study stuff online.

But I also find myself in a store thinking "hmm, this is a good deal and I could use it" or "I hadn't seen this but this would make a good gift for someone."

I do look at lots of things and just decide to not buy them. Lots more than before I retired because I do have more time to shop now. But there is a danger being in the stores. A danger that you will buy something just because it seems like a good deal when, really, you could easily do without it. Especially when you are trying to downsize.

It Helps to Commiserate

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 10, 2004 — You feel better if everyone is in the same boat. You do.

Some things I deal with like Microsoft software, the financial markets, politics and exercise affect a lot of my friends in similar ways.

And while I'm not a joiner I am always glad to hear that, well, it's not just me.

Today I commiserated with my techie guy about the vagaries of PCs, talked to my gym buddies about exercise and sympathized with an old work buddy about the things that never seem to change in our business. Well, of course, I'm no longer in the business. But I still think about it.

Yeah, it helps if there are other people on the journey. Group therapy, I suppose.

Computers are Hateful Things, I Love Them

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 9, 2004 — Love/hate doesn't begin to describe it. Being able to have e-mail, surf the WEB, create this little space where you are reading, save photos digitally, listen to music. Well, I love that. I can't believe how neat it is. I mean I remember using computers I communicated with using punched cards. I'd wait a long time for a compile, then a run. I dreamed of the day I'd have this kind of power at my fingertips in my house.

But maintaining these beasts in the face of OS updates; SPAM, Spyware, viruses and their cures; making backups against failures; and the occasional failure to boot or failure of hardware like today? Dealing with things that used to work suddenly not working or working differently or slowly? I hate the heck out of it.

You apparently can't have one without the other. Added to my agony is the fact that FFP expects me to be able to make things work when, in fact, I know very little about it. I feel guilty that he might have lost a few files. I feel I should spend time learning all about these beasts and doing the absolute best thing to back them up, secure them, select software, etc. etc. But I know in my heart of hearts that doing that would mean not using the things to do the things I really want to do with them. It's a dilemma, I tell you.

Lazy

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 8, 2004 — They used to say in the working world that it took a week or more of vacation to get into not working and relax. Well, after over two years of retirement, I think I've gotten lazy. But maybe I've just gotten relaxed.

The last few days I have been able to just kick back and read, work on my computer, study my trivial things, without worrying about 'accomplishing' this or that. Not that there are things to accomplish. I have a long list. It just seems like it's OK to take a break, that there is time enough. Maybe it is coming from this place that will allow me to really start doing things differently. Being creative, seeing things in new ways. Or maybe I'm just getting lazy.

Prophetic Dreams

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 7, 2004 — Everyone has had one. You wake up, reconstructing your dream, drifting out of it, rejecting it for reality as we know it. You turn it over in your mind, recoiling if something horrible happened. Then you go on with real life, get up and shower and bruch your teeth.

Give that dream, disturbing as it was, a day or two and, unless you write about it intently or talk about it a lot, it slips away. Faster than most real memories. Morphs even more than remembered reality, too. Your mind tries to make it more real, more grounded, more meaningful.

Then, once in a great while, something happens within hours or a few days of a dream that is startlingly like the dream or what the dream has morphed into when exposed to waking life. And we think, "I dreamed it, I had a prophetic dream."

Of course, statistically it has to happen once in a while. The dreams that, so to speak, don't 'come to anything,' the ones that make no match to reality are forgotten.

I know this rational bit. I know it's all chaos. Once in a while, there will be a string of heads or tails. Doesn't change the odds.

When I was in college, I lived in a dorm. The only phones were in the lobby. We'd get buzzed to the lobby for a phone call, I believe, and that happened or else my mom left a message for me to call.

The day of the call in question I'd awoken, remembering a disturbing dream. As I remember this dream today there were a bunch of people in a large house with multiple stories. We (and I'm not sure who else but there were other people there) were searching for a death certificate to find out 'who was dead.' The candidates were my mom's brother-in-law, James (called Jim) and my dad's sister's son James (sometimes called 'little Willie') and my mother's sister's son James Van (son of the first James and called Van). Yes, all named James, none called James that much. My dad had (and still has) a brother James, too. He is the oldest of all these people, but he wasn't in the dream. In the dream a teenaged boy with a crewcut and a blue Banlon shirt (remember Banlon?) said something that began with "When I was alive...." I didn't recognize him.

So, I had that dream, woke up and still couldn't place who the boy in the blue shirt was supposed to be. The dream seemed ominous and mysterious.

So a few hours later I'm on that phone in the dorm lobby. My mother says that Dad's sister's son James is dead, killed in a car accident. The shock took on multiple levels. My young cousin dead. One of the first deaths I'd had to face in my life. I'd lost an elderly grandfather since I'd been aware of things and that was about it. But then I realized, the boy in that blue shirt in the dream was that same James. I wasn't certain then and I'm sure not certain now but I think that the last time I saw him may have been in that shirt. I believe I later found a picture with him in that shirt at my mother's house. Although I can't put my hand on it so maybe I'm imagining that. So there was the death and the dream. Did I dream this thing before it happened? Or before I could have known it happened?

It got even deeper, too, because when I went home to go with my parents to West Texas for the funeral I was in the driveway and my mother came out and said something like, "Van had an accident." My knees weakened. Turned out that James Van just had a badly broken arm or something.

I know it's all part of the chaos, but I've remembered that dream forever. Jim, the uncle, died of colon cancer but James Van is still alive. Nearly fifty. The James that wasn't in the dream, my dad's brother, is too. He's ninety. But none of that means anything. Death is sure and certain. The when and why part of the chaos. Like dreams. Still, my cousin who left so soon will always be about fourteen in a blue Banlon shirt. I'll never not recognize him again. He would be over 50 if he'd lived!

Do We Really Need an Audience

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 6, 2004 — If you write, must someone read it? If you draw, must someone hang it on a wall? If you make a film, must people munch popcorn in a darkened room with your work? If you do good works, lose weight, save mone, learn new things and become an all-around better person must that be recognized to be real.

The act of creation calls into question the act of observing the results. Most of us observe the works and persons of others far more than we create something of our own.

In the past, the act of creating notebooks, diaries and journals flew in the face of the need for an audience. Many of these works were eventually published but often not before the creator had passed into the next world or, in my view, had ceased to exist as a person.

Online journals are in this odd position of being out there by definition. If you post them, then it is a public act. But, of course, just as we've made it easy to display any art that is easily digitized, we have an explosion of writing, photos and other creations. Some receive large audiences but most can only command a tiny number of eyeballs. Like this journal.

How many people read this sentence?

It doesn't matter to me. I don't need an audience for my life. In fact, I think that the smaller the audience the better. The more free and unfettered I feel. The better to pursue something odd and new and different.

The Art of Hosting

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 5, 2004 — I haven't been doing much of it but, in the past, I've hosted lots of events. I'm not a great cook or bartender. I don't have the most fabulous place for entertaining (although it works pretty well).

It's really just these three things: (1) Do something fun, a little surprising or different; (2) Have an interesting mix of people; and (3) Care about your guests and work on their good time.

I've done many off-the-wall things to make an event different. I've centered the party around an event (breakfast at Wimbledon or the Olympic Opening Ceremony...nothing as tired as a Super Bowl Party). I've invited kids and had someone to entertain them with crafts and prizes. For work parties when I was entertaining people who worked on my projects, I'd have oddball drawings and giveaways. I'd hire a reflexologist and a seated massage person. I've had beer tastings, wine tastings, make your own taco, make your own sandwich. I've had invited lots of people or a few and often interesting mixtures.

During parties I run around filling food trays or seeing that everyone has a drink to their liking. (Lots of women guests used to mean white wine and Diet Coke. Today you might go through many bottles of water even for a party of a lot of men.) Or I hire someone to do that worrying for me.

Yeah, I think hosting is easy except that social things wear me out and I always spend too much money. Both of which give me pause when I think of entertaining these days. But if I don't what am I going to do with scores of wine glasses and porcelain plates and all the other gear that is really only for parties?

Acquaintances

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 4, 2004 — I enjoy knowing lots of people. Lots of different people. Old, young, attached, single, straight, gay, white, black, brown, rich, poor, professional, tradesman, curmudgeon, bon vivant. I feel like I learn something from each one. And, while some people can become tiresome in long doses, I do like keeping up with people. I have a name database of 378 individuals or families of which I've selected 197 to receive holiday cards this year. Of those, 197 some will be returned as undeliverable and, undoubtably, even after I've printed the labels we will decide against sending others.

Of course, I know far more than 378 people. There are people I work out with and play tennis with and a pile of old acquaintances and co-workers who aren't on my address list. I bet I know 1000 people, maybe 2000. And I mean people who would also know who I am, not celebrities or anything. I know the mayor, for example, but not the president. I've actually talked to the governor but he wouldn't know who I am so he doesn't count. Of course, I often forget the names of some of these people. That isn't too surprising.

We get out a lot and I'm constantly adding to the store of people. People I know a little about or a lot. People I've discussed this and that with.

Each one contributes something. They come and go from your life, making up an important part of it for a minute or two, a year then drifting away. They show up again, accidentally or because they remember you in terms of wanting or needing something from you.

It's fun to think about all the people. Because, really, there isn't anything else.

R*lex Watches

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 3, 2004 — The current spam fad is Rolex watches. Some tout Italian rolexes some spout terms like Oyster. But they are spewing offers for these symbols of having made it far and wide.

There was a time when if you were in a certain set you had to have a Rolex. Maybe we are still in that time, I don't know.

I never wanted a Rolex. If someone had given me one, I would have given it away. And...I did.

My company gave me a gold Ladies Rolex as a sales milestone award. I had it appraised. $10,500 I think they said. I never wore it. I gave it to the Austin Symphony Orchestra and they auctioned it off for five or six thousand dollars.

I never regretted it. I wouldn't like wearing a watch that is worth more than my car. It just seems wrong.

There were people in the company who didn't appreciate me giving it away. Later people receiving the same award found their names engraved on them.

The company also gave me a knock-off Remington sculpture. (I sold it for $250.) They also gave me two glass sculptures. And for one they gave me a chunk of marble with the product name on it to display it on! I left that at the company with someone who had to maintain the thing. I have one of these things on display and the other is in a box in the closet. I don't really like them.

Teflon Trousers and Bionic Bagels

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 2, 2004 — It's good I guess that technology is helping us make things last and stay nice longer. I recently bought some pants at Gap. They are 'stress-free' khakis. See their own explanation below. I didn't think much about it, I needed a pair of black cotton pants and these are 100% cotton and were on sale but it's just that they have this finish. I call them Teflon® Trousers but I only mean that in the "brand name has leaked into the vernacular" sort of way. Obviously, they are really Nano-Care™ Trousers. It's not alliterative, though.

And, yes, I've dripped stuff on them and no, it didn't show. It did seem wrong somehow.

Today I ate a bionic bagel. I should explain. I rarely buy packaged bagels because they aren't really bagels. I eat bagels at the bakery. (The 'everything' ones if you must know and don't read the food diary.) If you take them home they are inedible and suitable as hockey pucks in a day or so. Because they have no preservatives. But when I was buying stuff for Dad's birthday gathering I'd decided to serve bagels cut up with smoked salmon and such. So, I bought some packaged bagels at Sam's Club. (Before you send me an e-mail about the sins of shopping at Wal-Mart and its affilates, please know that if they are relying on me for their trade they will be sorely beaten in the market place. The last person who excoriated me for shopping there prefers Costco. Hmm. Is that really better?) Anyway, back to the bionic bagels.

These were Sara Lee brand. As I said, sold by Sam's Club. I bought two flavors. But it was one of the Honey Wheat ones that was left today for me to consume with my lunch. They sat on the counter (unrefrigerated) since my dad's birthday (or the day before maybe). So, that baby was, let's see, forty-four days old! Or so. And it was soft and had no sign of mold or ruin.

The only preservative in this baby was calcium propionate. A bit of WEB reading didn't turn up anything too startling about this ingredient. Still, one wonders just how long that bagel would have lasted if I hadn't eaten it today. Forty-four-day-old bread! You folks can send these to our boys in Iraq.

Commitments

AUSTIN, Texas, Nov. 1, 2004 — Yesterday I had to select a new book to take to the gym. I realized that this always threw me a little. Because I knew that I'd finish it if I started it, usually, in my sort of compulsive way. So picking a book was making a commitment.

I sign up for tennis activities, agree to go to water aerobics, agree with FFP to go to social events with the idea that, without commitments you end up sitting at home watching mindless TV. (Ideally, I'd be sitting at home writing a great screenplay or a great novel or something but, yeah, mindless TV is what usually gets consumed. That and newspapers and crossword puzzles.) I plan trips because once there are tickets and commitments I'll go somewhere.

I'm careful with my commitments, though. I greet the blank areas on the calendar with ever hopeful glee. I feel I'll fill that time getting things sorted out, learning things, writing books and other things (besides WEB pages). I fell I'll read book after book from which I will extract the knowledge and background for my writing and to, oh, maybe save the world. And surely the books are leading me somewhere. Aren't they? I'll use the time to watch movies and read screenplays and learn how to use my DV camera and figure out that business. Or at least I'll do well on trivia quizes.

All I need is uncommitted time to make things happen, right? Well, I have a lot of it. And very little to show for it and it's scary.