Wednesday, November 13, 2002

delectables on offer in the KaDeWe food hall

"La plaisir est l'object, le devoir et le but
De tous les êtres raisonnables."

"Pleasure is the object, the duty, the goal
Of all rational creatures. "
Voltaire

I am up early. FFP has a 7:30 pre-op visit with the anethesiologist for his day surgery next week. I have a dentist's appointment at 8:30 to get a crown done.

So, yeah I'm up early. But it doesn't feel that good. I noticed last week when I was just getting my teeth cleaned that I couldn't wait for it to be over. I couldn't wait to get 'on with my life.' When I was working, I'd send out a note saying "I'll be late, I have a dental appointment." And even during the drilling I had a sense of precious escape.

For some reason, I almost never called in sick when I was working unless I was sick. Really sick. I didn't stay home for what people call a 'mental health day.' I didn't stay home even if my throat was a little scratchy or I had a headache. I don't know why. I thought I'd feel better shortly after a dose of Echinecea or decongestant. I usually did. Sometimes I felt sick in the middle of the day but didn't go home. I probably had less than one sick day a year for the thirteen years I worked there. And I was miserable when I took them, too.

I remember hating to go to work but then feeling relief sliding into my ergonomic chair, facing my computer and starting to try to figure out what to do to make things work. I had shown up. Step one. That was the main thing about my career: I just kept showing up. But I stayed away if I had a good excuse. Although I sometimes worked sick. I don't know why.

And I don't miss it.

Because after I slid into that chair, and faced the music I often didn't know what to do. Or did and couldn't do it. Or got distracted by crazy political wranglings.

Am I getting more junk mail now or does it just seem that way when I'm paying more attention to my personal mail?

I stopped some things I'd legitimately subscribed to receive. Like the Multiple Myeloma Minute. And the WiFi News. (Although I'm stilll getting some stuff I specifically asked for like a luxury travel auction and Playbill's e-letter for New York shows.)

But the offers to alter my body and provide completely new sexual experiences continue. As do the incessant offers for the Homer Simpson Bottle Opener. (That one tempts me a little.) Debt-free me---I am offered credit cards, refinancing, loans, and credit fixes even without perfect credit. You'd think they could figure out who you are and at least exclude the offers to make me taller and fix my credit. I'm tall enough. My credit is fine.

Sure, I might succumb to flat hoses since I do have a yard with the round ones tangled up here and there (though those offers are dropping off) or DVD sales or rental (although having the DVD player fixed in the media room would create more demand in this household).

Yeah, when there is TRULY no privacy, these things will be tailored to you. My inbox will have artsy movie DVDs on offer, will eschew offers to change my appearance but might pitch a gadget or two. They will be pitching books and trips, but not trying to get me to whiten my teeth or buy a mini radio-controlled racer. This last has replaced flat hoses, I think. You could try to run your mini racer over your flat hose while opening a brew with your Homer bottle opener.

And, for the record, I rarely swallow pills of any kind and am not considering Viagra for sure and will not buy anything guaranteed to help me lose weight no matter how specific your results. ("Lose 23 1/2 pounds in 10 days!") And, for the record, you are not my friend and you haven't found my money nor do you have a delivery awaiting my address.

The dentist has gone all high tech on me. I watch CNBC while he works. There is no nasty plastic-like sticky impression. Some camera and computer figures it out. Then a machine creates the crown, grinding away while flinging water around to cool it displaying the amount of time left. I am not as antsy as I was last week during the cleaning.

I go home numb. I make a card for a friend's birthday. I make a list of things to do that I don't do. I clean and straighten a few things and try to conquer the piles of papers and get the media room ready for FFP to have a meeting tomorrow. Having people over is a good way to get us to straighten up...or at least dump stuff in another room and close the door. Hmmm...I was going to read this book and it got buried!

Around 3:30, I go work out a little. Twenty-five minutes on the exercise bicycle and some leg exercises.

The Austin Hertitage Society is an old organization. Forrest recently got involved in one of its boards or committees. Tonight there is an awards program at the Governor's Mansion. The deep pockets folks have been entertained at an earlier reception in the mansion. The awards and food and drink is outside in tents and the gazebo. We are invited into the mansion but it's too crowded so we get a drink and mill around.

We chat with one of the waiters (from Word of Mouth). We are the kind of people who, invited to such a party, knows the help, I joke. Of course, this gal helped with FFP's Dad's 90th birthday. We go to lots of things they cater. And actually we know lots of the bigwigs, too. We greet the guys from Franklin Bank, Sue McBee (well, we know her...maybe she is vague on who we are), Lee Gaddis, the GM of the Driskill (Jeff Trigger), and various other luminaries. We get a crack at the food and have a plate full before the hoards from inside the insider party go for it. We sit on uncomfortable chairs close enough to one of those outside heaters to not be too cold and listen to a fairly short awards program considering the number of awards given. It's interesting, too, to see the pictures of restored homes and businesses and think about going to check them out.

We stop at the grocery store for some decaf coffee for the meeting at our house in the morning and walk out with breakfast sausages, hamburger meat, tofu, tortilla chips and jars of fruit as well.

Home, doze.

JUST TYPING
Once going to the dentist.
Was an excuse.
From work.
And not unwelcome.
Even the drill a respite.
So...retirement must be a pleasure.
Since the dentist is dreaded.