Sunday

Sept 2, 2001

not really Sunday

I meant to be up at 7. But by 8 something, we were out walking the neighborhood. SuRu, FFP, the dogs and I. Sun was hot. Shade was cool. (That was an improvement.) But we sweated.

I have come to the startling realization that I only have three weekends before I have to leave for a business trip. I'm less than thrilled about this trip. Four foreign cities with various speeches and classes to give. I had half hoped they'd cancel the funding and I'd have to use the ticket I got with miles (so I wouldn't have to ride long hours in coach) to take a vacation. Ah, well. It's my job. Now I just have to make sure I know what I'm talking about and have my bag packed!

There is a deadline tomorrow for submitting abstracts for a conference next May. I should submit one or two. It's my job to try to get into these things. But I have hesitated. The good news is that I am often rejected. The conference could make this decision for me. I guess I'll submit some.

In spite of this slightly panicky feeling about work, I give myself a break on this Sunday that isn't followed by a work day. I settle in to handle things like my personal budget, surf the WEB a little.

Then FFP and I take a drive and go way down south. All the way to the South Central Market. I bet him a quarter we will see someone we know, but we don't. We pick up fresh asparagus, some green onions and some kiwi and a couple of canned vegetables. But we look all around, admiring the expensive wines, prepared food and beautiful red tuna.

We stop on S. Lamar at a funky place for a cup of coffee. There are hub caps and car springs in the 'landscaping' outside. Inside we drink coffee out of cups of questionable cleanliness and hear a slacker boy complain that Bon Jovi is stuck in his head.

We drive down S. Congress and see what's going on and on through downtown, scenic route.

Home again, I steam the asparagus and FFP reheats chicken thighs and a bit of shark steak. We finish last night's wine and open another cheap bottle of Shiraz/Cab. We watch a DVD about the Monterey Jazz Festival and some assorted TV. I read a bunch of papers, too.

It may seem that my day was wasted but, amazingly, I checked several things off my list.

Seeing a face...what does it mean?

"Vision is the art of seeing things invisible."

Jonathan Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects; from Miscellanies (1711)

Meta: There is one journal out there where the journaler's links includes my journal. There may be more, but I don't think so. Michael is the one and in this entry he mentions that he is being interviewed for an article. One more temptation to hide the journal or password protect it. But, of course, I'm being silly. Aren't I? People are very considerate of not linking to me (Michael even offered to remove his link) since they now that I've talked about being a recluse with an online journal. An extroverted recluse, is that possible?

It's funny how the face is the most common symbol and we see faces everywhere.

(F a c e)

v

..facts..