Friday

May 25, 2001

friends at the Alamo in 1998

I'm not crazy about waking up in hotel rooms. In Houston. For work. When I have to pack right up and leave. I shower up and groom, grateful for the free coffee service. Houston is abuzz with the death of policemen. I half listen. One was shot? One had a one car accident? Was he drunk? The Hilton's flag was at half mast when I drove up yesterday. Is that why? I never asked.

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Then I drive to Houston. Yes, again. I was going to ride with someone else but the logistics boggled the mind because I have a dinner engagement and a meeting tomorrow and want to go home as soon as I can tomorrow. Besides, the car knows the way.

I'm going to miss lunch, so I stop for some junk food to nibble on.

I get to the hotel, get a room and get hooked up to the Internet and check messages. All in about ten minutes. Then I'm off to find the meeting in some hotel I never heard of before.

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So I've spent the night in Houston for a meeting. A lot of the committee shows up but a lot don't. A salesman, full of himself as salesmen often are, tries to cancel the meeting due to lack of interest. We argue about that and are soon having the meeting anyway. Perhaps I am just too tired of the topic. I should be thrilled to get attention to the problem from all the different company areas: sales, marketing, legal, pricing, consulting. I am. But it still makes me tired knowing that this decision is just one in a long line of difficult decisions and that implementation is something else again. Good work is hard, I think. I think we may be accomplishing something. Really. I hope.

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Drove home, trying to miss the Memorial Day traffic. Leaving Houston at noon, I largely succeeded. Finished the 'books on tape' I'd brought and stopped at the WalMart in La Grange to see if they had any. Couldn't find anything to my liking so I listened to the radio, flipping from one station to another and listened to French lessons. I nibbled candy and Ritz Bits and those awful beef stick things. Drank a Wild Cherry Pepsi. To stay awake. It works. I look at the odometer. I say, "OK, in one mile, I will take a drink of soda or a bite." If I have to pass a car or negotiate a turn, I'll say, "Wait until you have completed this manuever." Then I'll say, "wait one more half mile." This works. I pay attention to the road (and the odometer, of course) and stay awake. Which is, when driving, very important.

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Safe at home, I try to get my work done. But instead I fool around and talk to a friend on the phone. I make a list of business and personal things I have to do.

FFP goes to Randall's and gets some shrimp and guacamole. Unfortunately, he also buys these cookies I like. We drink a great bottle of Shiraz. I read the paper and start the book that FFP gave me for anniversary. I doze. I finally go to bed and then I sort of lie awake, worrying about things. Finally, I sternly tell myself that there is nothing to worry about, to think of light-hearted stuff. I fall asleep. It's rare I listen to myself like that. But, darn it, worry at the beginning of a three-day weekend seems awful. And I actually have nothing to worry about. Life is good. Silly, confusing, yes. But good. Of course, I'm worried about friends of mine. Their losses, their health, their financial troubles. But these things happen. Good folks get through them and go on until the inevitable end we all share.

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