Tuesday, November 12, 2002

poster in U-bahn station

"What we do belongs to what we are; and what we are is what becomes of us. "
Henry Van Dyke, Ships and Havens, 1898

I finish up this diary when I get up. I try to think of things I'm committed to doing today. I think I said I'd lunch with SuRu. I'm thinking Indian, Chinese, Japenese, Korean. I wonder why Asian restaurants don't have patios. It is a glorious day.

I need to visit with my dad, too. I call him and tell him I'll see him after lunch. He doesn't care for this kind of food.

I finish up the back issues of this diary.

I go to the gym and do twenty-five slow minutes on the stationery bike and arm machines and over ten minutes on the rowing machine. I read my book, Man and Boy by Tony Parsons, while I ride the bike. I thought I'd read more and exercise more in retirement. And I do. Although I never seem to catch up on newspapers.

I go home, answer SuRu's e-mail about lunch and other stuff, shower, dress. I stop and pick up the last pictures I've gotten developed.

I have lunch at a place that I'm sure has a name but that we have called 'cheap Chinese' for a long time. Eat for five bucks. I have lunch with SuRu and someone else from my old work place. We discuss literature, art, philosophy and, oh yeah, a bit of corporate life.

I go over to Dad's. I give him my article draft to deliver to his friend. He helps me sort through some of Mom's clothes and shoes and handbags. We gather a pile of stuff that I'm going to try to maybe save for myself and a much bigger pile for the thrift store. We have made progress but there is more to do. I get the car pretty full and get as sad as I care to be at about the same time.

I go home. I unload the stuff that I'm keeping of Mom's and go to the Safe Place Thrift Store. I unload purses, shoes, clothes. Some of the things are quite nice and new. I figure since this place benefits the battered women's shelter that it is a good spot to drop off women's clothes. I normally give to people who call and pick up or to Top Drawer, a store in my neighborhood that benefits Project Transitions, a housing service for people with HIV and AIDS. My neighborhood has quite a few thrift stores. The Safe Place one is over on Airport north of 45th, though, and so I make a trip to an area I don't usually visit.

I enjoy driving around, seeing what people are doing, what they are up to (and against). It's very anonymous, actually, in Austin or in Berlin. It's like watching a movie. People and their artifacts are endlessly interesting.

I eat some leftovers for dinner, make a card for my friend who was fifty last week and enclose pictures I took at her party, surf the WEB for some information, read some newspapers, doze. SuRu and I were going to try a late night dog walk but I was already in sleepy mode and couldn't get up for it.

JUST TYPING
Choosing the use of this minute.
And the next.
Weaves a fabric.
Makes us.
Something.
Like human.
Or not.