AUSTIN, Texas, September 2, 2005 — I can sometimes wallow in my own little world. Staying at home all day (like yesterday) fretting over workmen ripping into my yard or riding their backhoe up and down the street to the main valve, worrying about making my yard and driveway whole again. Or going to the club (about three miles away) and staying home otherwise, staying in my little shell there. Today I branch out. I'm going to take vegies and dip and deviled eggs to my dad's church and help him provide refreshments for his friends playing games. I'll hang around and help clean up and see how the next generation is doing.

We are going downtown to meet with one of the

society movers and shakers of the ballet after that. FFP agreed that we (I'm thinking he) would chair some sort of event. Then tonight we will have dinner at someone's house. They actually live in Onion Creek. They are the only people we know who do, it seems.I haven't been there for years. Not since there was a Seniors golf tournament there and we got tix somehow.

I should get up really early and go work out. But I'm not up to it. I want some sleep. I do get up around seven-thirty and get a shower. After I'm dressed I chop up some vegies for my snack contribution. I feel like I should offer something to the Seniors that is reasonably tasty. I tidy up after that, have some more coffee. Then I gather some dip, vegies and deviled eggs in my insulated bag and go north to Dad's neighborhood.

The old folks gather in the de-commissioned sanctuary. (Before they had the new sanctuary, they merely moved some rows of seats aside and set up the game tables.) Next door on the kitchen counter my dad and a friend of his are arranging chips, pickles, nuts, fruit, cake, donuts and a plastic box of tuna sandwiches. I put out the vegies, dip and deviled eggs. For an hour or two I nibble, drink coffee, read my book and watch the games. When someone's mind starts to malfunction, they sometimes lose their gaming ability. In a 42 game, the participants try to keep their friend, a ninety-year-old guy, in the game...reminding him to follow suit, how to bid, strategy. It is hopeless though and sad. My dad plays a somewhat simpler game with double twelve dominoes. Although I've seen minds fail in matching the pips (the color coding helps, though). Most of the seniors are sharp. There are sixteen there today. When they are winding up, I pick up my stuff. All the deviled eggs are gone but there are vegies and dip left. The seniors make another trip by the desserts and sandwiches.

I go home, read some notes on the event that the society types from Ballet Austin are proposing and go to the meeting. I don't like asking for donations and I'm not good at much else. I volunteer for cleanup. I can pick up trash. FFP, of course, is coming up with creative ideas, PR ideas, etc. He will do a lot for the thing, I'm sure.

Some new friends in Onion Creek have us over. We gather wines and head out to their house. There is a lot of traffic on IH35. We get to their house right on time, however. We talk over Proseco and apps. Then we have a glass of Pouilly Fuissé and a lovely salad. A St. Julien (Leoville Barton 1994) with Osso Buco and polenta and carrots. The meat is lovely and tender. We have a wide-ranging discussion of the arts, travel, family.

Today I listened to lots of people instead of staring at the infrastructure under my front yard and listening to CNN and tennis. I don't mind telling you that the situation on the Gulf Coast is starting to wear on me. One feels so helpless. The tennis matches with their pristine movements in the orderly lines provide a contrast. Every time they show a crowd, though, it reminds me of the crowds around the Superdome and such.

We get home rather late. I try and fail to finish the day's newspapers and fall asleep flipping through tennis coverage. Sleep. Tomorrow there is nothing on our schedule. That feels good.