Sunday. December 30, 2001

Dad carried this picture of my nieces attached to his name badge when he was still a hospital attendant for the VA.

"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything."

Muhammad Ali

I wake up amidst some strange dreams. Twice I'm telling about fires and a fire starts behind someone. We are putting together some elaborate plastic toys. I am getting my hair done. It's taking a long time and all she seems to have done is snip a little piece. I get some orange juice and am charged $200 for it, only in increments of $6.57. And, yes, this morning I know that 200 is not evenly divisible by 6.57 but it made sense in the dream. When I wake up and it's hard to do, I try to remember all this but it's still hard to do when I'm finally keying in the entry later.

FFP goes off to do another interview for his column. While he's gone I finish up the journal for yesterday and download and optimize some pictures. Then I start packing. I've already made the list. I start trying to match up socks, count out underwear and review what pills and such I need. I remove the Swiss Army Knife I usually carry in my backpack from it and business papers and business cards that I won't need. I download a WEB page with trip info both to my laptop and my Palm.

I find packing for a fun trip much cheerier than packing for business trips. Business trips are work with the extra trouble of packing, leaving town and flying and airports.

SuRu calls and we discuss packing, what to wear on the plane, etc. FFP comes home and is hungry, SuRu calls back, ready to return a borrowed ice chest. We decide to go to Chez Zee. It's too crowded, though, and we go to Aranda's and then see a sign in the Farmer's Market and end up over there at a Hoover's outpost. The tacos are so-so. The other two have eggs and bacon and biscuits and a pancake each.

Back home, I finish packing. It's good to have it done. I fret over what camera to take. The digital needs lots of extra batteries. My tiny Nikon NuvisS APS camera is small, goes a long way on a tiny battery, makes panoramas. But a roll FFP did had some weak-looking shots. So I shoot up a roll to be sure it's working and take them Eckerd's.

FFP and I decide to stay in, drink warm drinks and watch TV. Except I have to go back to Eckerd's to get the pictures, of course.

I review my packing list, do little tasks like scanning a picture I borrowed from my dad, finding our guest bed sheets since one of our New Year's Eve buddies will stay over.

I go get the pictures. They are pretty good. Not great. One looks like the flash didn't work. I think my Olympus 35MM and my digital take better pictures. But the camera is small, its accessories compact (tiny, rarely needed replacement battery, cartridges of 40 shot film available). Since I'm taking a laptop, Palm and a cell phone and charger on the plane, at least it will be small. Yeah, I'll be at security a while, I guess. It really makes me mad, though, that the solution from the pundits is that travelers not carry anything on the plane. I saw a facetitious article suggesting everyone fly naked. But the point is well-taken: we will sacrifice our freedom for an illusion of safety.

I watch some mindless TV. In my office and on the antique Sony in the living room and on the even older Sony in the kitchen (we bought it in 1977). Things don't last like they once did. I read the Sunday paper. And fall asleep.

JUST TYPING
Depressed.
And then suddenly.
Like a chemical wave.
Peace and happiness.