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Sunday September 17, 2000
"Some people just have an urge to confess things, some kind of misplaced truthfulness. You want to say the things that people haven't said -- and people have said a lot of things." Nicholson Baker, From the Powells.com Interviews
Meta: Am I having trouble posting every day? Yes, I am. I'm also having trouble getting illustrative pictures. I forget to take my camera where the opportunities are. I know that in a few weeks I'll be traveling and updating will be much, much harder. Impossible probably, until after the fact. This may end the journal, end the urge to do it. But I'd really like to continue it. What to do? Allow myself small, terse entries? Picture placeholders? I really don't have that much trouble writing once I get started, but getting the proofing (yeah, sometimes I do even though I still see typos later), indexing and posting done starts to seem less than trivial.
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country club...in the city The air is COOL when we take our dog walk. We drive all the way to Clarksville before I remember my leash and have to go back home. Still, it's not too hot for a walk. Amazing. We have our snacks at Sweetish Hill where I like the cinnamon rolls. My parents show up at the house, ready for the birthday brunch before I've showered. I'm outside looking at the neighbors' remodel. Soon we are off to our 'country club' which is really only seven minutes away and quite in the city, really. FFP's parents and Deb and Sam go, too. Monday and Tuesday will mark my parent's birthdays (he: 84; she: 79). The brunch is quite tasty and the company is in good form. FFP's dad worked on the club building long ago as a carpenter and finds it interesting to see it now. Deb hasn't been in it for many years, since she was invited to a party as a teenager. After the leisurely brunch, I rest a bit and then take off for the parents. I go by Sam's and get some wire cube storage things. I struggle to get them together but finally win and make them some additional shelves in their bedroom closet in the process. The evening is spent relaxing spinning the end to another Sunday closing in on another time, a Monday. I don't like Mondays and Sundays always lead to them.
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