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April 21, 2000
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spring holiday Well, you asked for it. OK, some of you. OK, none of you. But there it is anyway. Because it's my page. There is my self portrait with skin disease. It is a company holiday called 'spring holiday.' Incidental overlap with Passover and Easter religious celebrations, I'm sure. We signed some legal papers. To execute a will, you have to be 18 years old. To witness it, fourteen. "I'm fourteen again," said one of the assistants called on to do this. Then we went to the bank to get some signature guarantees and a notary seal on one thing. All done with that by a little after nine. I wanted to get an eXtreme dog walk in as soon as possible, before it got too hot. But SuRu didn't answer. Still we got away pretty early and went on the other side of the creek and even on the other side of Bull Creek. We saw a few areas we hadn't seen. Or not in a while anyway. I didn't recall seeing the station wagon with ivy growing in it before. I meant to get this room in order. I really did. And make a mailing list for my niece to send announcements of baby Jack. And write my sister a letter. Instead, I worked on the WEB page, visited with people who dropped by and just generally did whatever I felt like doing. What a pleasure. That's what a day off is for. Rebecca brought Steve to admire the yard, a guy from Gardens came by to admire the yard, Laurie and her daughter came to show off Easter bonnets, Forrest did do some work. But he knocked off early to garden and, of course, he visited with the company, too. He showed Steve his stereo system in THE ROOM, the wine closet and such. He also went through the NYC Time Out and looked for clubs we might go to when we are up there. He has found one who will have some very old tenor sax player performing one of the nights we are there. We went to see the symphony. The symphony and four voice soloists and the Austin Civic Chorus performing Verdi's Requiem. They performed it straight through without intermission. Everyone from the person who opened the door to the ticket taker on to the program distributor and the bar keep said, "There isn't going to be an intermission." This sent us out the door rather earlier than usual and in search of the home where a reception was being held afterward. We wandered the house, marveling at the interesting design and direction. Bumped into a guy going into a closed room with dog food. "I always put a sign on a door and say 'dog jail' so people won't disturb the pooch," I say. "I know. I've been to your house." Oops. But I do remember the guy then from a benefit over a year ago. He is, in fact, the decorator and friends with the owner (and dog). At the bar, Forrest greats the bartender warmly. I'm feeling bad that I don't remember him. But then Forrest says, "He helped us with the party you didn't get to go to." Then I feel better. After a while at the party, we slip out before the crowd and get our car from the valet parkers and go to the Four Seasons. We close the evening with Rebecca, singing things we want to hear and things from Andrew Lloyd Weber pieces for other people.
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"I have an idea that if it were possible to assemble the sick and suffering day by day in the Albert Hall and keep the Orchestra going all the time, then the constant exposure of sick parts to such heavenly air vibrations would ultimately restore to them the lost rhythm of health." W.N.P. Barbellion, The Journal of a Disappointed Man
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only skin deep
inoperable vehicle
keep this neat?
Easter bonnets |
