Sunday

Sept. 23, 2001

as big as a horse

Last night my dreams were many. But the one I remember was SuRu, Zoey and a cat. At the beach. A cat dove into the surf. I know. Cats don't do that. It was a dream.

There were several dogs around. Zoey was the only one that took the bait and dove in. Except she was very big. Much bigger than she really is, as big as a horse. Then SuRu went in after her. There was a barrier of some kind in the water. The cat had disappeared under it. It stopped Zoey, too.

I think I had airplanes in other dreams, but I can't remember them.

We slept pretty late. (Except FFP got up early to retrieve the paper, afraid someone would steal The New York Times with the magazine about the atrocties.) He cam back to bed though and we stayed there until 8AM or after. I did coffee and looked at the paper a little. FFP went off to the club to work out. When he gets his head into something, he does it with a passion. I should go, too, but I don't.

Yesterday while looking at the Austin Chronicle I saw an ad for The Starlite that said they had brunch. I convinced FFP to call and make a reservation for 11AM. Going out to breakfast seemed like a very wonderful, calming thing to do. He gave me a sidelong glance last night, of course, that said, "You never want to phone yourself."

Still, we were both quite ready for a calm brunch. We were early (we call it being pathilogically punctual) and they asked us to wait outside. On the shady patio, it was quite pleasant. We read our books (me my essays, he a collection of award-winning short stories) and would have been happy to do so for many more minutes.

We were seated at a two top even though the place was empty. The service was OK but not warm and welcoming. I ordered a wasabi Bloody Mary. It was very good but needed pepper. Forrest retrieved some from another table. We had coffees and I had the Bangkok Breakfast and FFP the Fritata. Mine was so good I didn't offer him any and vice versa.

Bangkok Breakfast was vanilla-scented rice topped with a poached egg and some greens accompanied by two tiny crab cakes with a wonderful sauce. Yummy.

We stopped by BookStop. And ended up buying some books including the paperback edition of the companion to the Ken Burns PBS series on New York...which I haven't actually seen. All histories are incomplete. This one is now dramatically so.

I keep probing the anxiety I'm having. Am I really and truly afraid to fly? No. Not at all. The biggest chance I have of harm on this trip is, I would guess, stepping off a curb in UK after looking left instead of right. In London they have 'Look Right' painted on the street a lot of places. Kept losing tourists, I guess. Of course, then you are on a divided street and wait on the median and get confused again.

I decide that if I pack my bags then I will be less anxious. Yes, that's it. I do it. It does help a little, I think. It seems like a lot of stuff. But it's for over two weeks. And I have to do business which means tramping around in the same clothes day afer day doesn't cut it. Of course, I have a laptop and a Palm and various gadgets to connect it. Believe it or not, I've already scratched things off my list to take. Seems like I have a lot of stuff. But over two weeks, it will be.

I usually fret like this about pocking for a trip. But I don't usually have this anxious feeling I'm going to be arrested for having the temerity for packing stuff. I know this is unreasonable. I know that if I don't take sharp things in my hand luggage that I will be fine.

I think it gives me something innocuous to worry about and keeps the demons of world politics at bay. Keeps me from thinking of bond traders pulzerized by terrorists who died for someone harbored by a regime (that the U.S. once supported) that has imprisoned all females. And keeps me from thinking about all our military might and how helpless it really is against things such as this. The Taliban will harbor people who think they are martyrs. The Taliban may martyr those girls who preached Christianity. We have hundreds of dead firefighters and policemen who went to help. We can lose a bunch of young guys. Like the tens of thousands of my generation that perished in Viet Nam. Except maybe the ones who survive will be heros to those back home. Or not.

I think I'll go back through my bags and figure out things I can leave out after all. It's such a pain. The European guys want us to fly around Europe with NO hand luggage. Pack laptops? I don't think so.

We go to a party for the opera crowd. Lightning and thunder threaten the outdoor event but we listen to singing accompanied by only a few drops of rain. Driving home there are big puddles in our neighborhood. Lucky.

I feel I need to travel for fun. Soon. Otherwise, travel will be spoiled for me. And it's one of my favorite things. Except for the planes, of course.

.

mural on Whit Hanks, once, still?

"Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace..."

John Lennon, "Imagine"

"I seem to be a man who lives to tell, which is one---if not the only or most noble---definition of a writer."

Joseph Epstein, "A Nice Little Knack for Name-Dropping" in Narcissus Leaves the Pool, a collection of essays

Meta:
We'll just be keeping Lennon's radical lyrics here for a day or two. Sometimes this journal is enough just because it gives me a voice, however poorly articulated.

luggage

JUST TYPING
Life.
Food.
Comfort.
Shelter.
Medical Care.
Intellectual stimulation.
I live,
mostly,
at the bottom of the pyramid.