Monday. December 3, 2001

detail on wall in Clarksville

"There is weeping in my heart
Like the rain falling on the city."

Paul Verlaine, Romances sans Paroles

I feel foggy when I wake up. I think I had a mixed drink, two glasses of wine and a glass of cognac. Maybe three glasses of wine. So maybe that's it.

It is foggy when I set out. Sometimes the hills just west, where I drive to work are real foggy in the morning. Like today. Like me.

My company used to not allow smokers. I mean we didn't hire them in the U.S. (Europe was always different.) Finally, they had to abandon that. And, no I don't think there was ever a legal challenge. We just bought companies that had smokers and, you know, it just became too much trouble. Anyway, you still can't smoke in the office or around it. So, I always notice the smokers, just down the sidewalk, chatting, with a little shock. There they were in the fog this morning, smoking.

I was out of sorts today but it's always a relief to just get to the office and get on with it. I have to research something I need to discuss tomorrow and that I've needed to research for a while. So, it's time to get on with it. You can find a lot of stuff on the WEB but it can be pretty confusing.

I lunch at the Brick Oven with a couple of buddies. We all want to retire. We discuss whether we can retire when we can also draw a Social Security check. Whether there will be Social Security when we retire. Whether our property taxes will ever start to level off their spiraling rise. Depressing.

"At least we can pay our taxes for now," I say.

After lunch, FFP e-mails me that our answering service isn't working so he's had to stay by the phone. I offer to work at home since I'm just reading stuff I printed out and reading stuff online and looking stuff up in a couple of books. Ho-hum. I'm not charged up about it.

Red Ribbon dinner at Fonda. That's on tap for tonight. After lunch at the Brick Oven, I'm not real hungry. But the food is good and interesting. Crema de Nuez de Castilla, Coctel de Mariscos, Cordoniz en Pipian con Timbale de Calabacito y elote, Postel de Tres Leches. Suprising how little Spanish I know but how many food words. OK, Cordiniz was a first for me. Cornish Game Hen. They don't mention that it was stuffed with wild mushrooms. The cake was really good. That is a dessert I like. The Beaulieu Vineyards (BV) folks served some pretty tasty wine

At home, FFP watches a tape of Boston Public and Ali Macbeal and I work a little on my annual family calendar ritual. I fight a little with Calendar Creator to put some new dates on it. I start printing them. Then I finish watching the tape (although I've really lost interest in these shows) while FFP sleeps and then I watch the end of Texasville. It isn't Last Picture Show but it isn't such a bad movie. There is a point where they all pull up to the Dairy Queen that reminds me of my youth in an extreme way. Bogdanovich just shoots the plain old drive-in by itself for a second. It reminds me of one of the few spots we had to go growing up.

JUST TYPING
Something about the fog.
Matches my mood.
Closed in.
Definitely not expansive.
Cautious.
Not hopeful.