Sunday,
February 9, 2003
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catching up No dreams survive my waking. I am waiting for a friend to come by for coffee, finishing yesterday's journal. I'm giving her a big box of material scraps and material for sewing projects for her to use in quilting. She and I worked the same place, once. She lives nearby. She is a little older than me. When my friend arrives, we have coffee and have a long convoluted discussion of jobs, languages, travel, people, death, religion, music, mutual friends. She got laid off but has found a new job. I'm a little sorry she won't be unemployed so that we could spend some time together. Sometimes friends working can spoil your own free time! Same with FFP. But she needs the job. And it sounds interesting. I'm happy for her. When she is gone, I get myself ready for a session at the club. The day is turning out to be somewhat beautiful.
As I ride the bicycle for my 45+ minutes I consider whether I should do any weight machines. Or go hit some tennis balls? Practice my racquetball. The pool isn't open so that isn't an option. At least one thing I don't have to worry about whether I should do or not. In the end, I decide to give myself a day's rest on the weights and to go on home and eat lunch. I've only had coffee for breakfast. Lunch is a big batch of spinach salad with mozzarella cheese, thousand island dressing, green onions and carrots and broccoli. It fills me up. Tonight is a big dinner with wine. I'll save up for that. In the end, even though it's delightful outside, I stay inside. I'm retired. I can get outside tomorrow or the next day or the next. Nice weather on the weekends used to make me anxious. (Must get outside.) Nice weather when I was working made me mad. I decide to try to do some more cleaning and straightening. I have some other projects that I should do. But I'm not in the mood for those. Mood is important in retirement and, if possible, nothing should be forced. In trying to dispense with the enormous amount of unread newsprint in my office (an activity I fail at, for the most part), I stumble on a New York Times article about Samuel Pepys and find out that the diaries with hyperlinks and commentary are being posted on www.pepysdiary.com. Only a brief look tells me that this most famous diarist cataloged his eating and drinking. So there. The evening's events start early as Sunday events often do. Cocktails are set for five-thirty. Still, I have a few minutes to accomplish something. FFP comes into my office after he has showered and suggests a trip to Half Price Books. And off we go. I like going over there and wandering around with him. I don't have anything I'm looking for at the moment. The selection at home is more than adequate. FFP is looking for a book by Richard Ford. He finds it and he finds a Louis Begley book (he wrote About Schmidt, but this is an earlier book) that won some award. We pick up a New York Magazine from last week for $1.58. There is an interesting article about weird collectors and I'll check out their restaurant listings for our trip. When we get home, I have to get in the shower and get black tie presentable for the evening.
The event is the fine wine auction and dinner to benefit the Austin Symphony. It's usually a good event. The menu includes really good food prepared by various chefs and the wines are well-matched. It's an expensive event, though. The tickets are expensive and we usually buy some wine. They keep the number of people low and have plenty of room between tables. We bid on a few silent auction things early (restaurant certificates, I think) but I don't go back and look because I'm sure we were outbid. I get a budget from FFP for the live auction but end up blowing it by 100% when I get stuck on one where I was sure I'd get outbid. Ah, but it's for charity. During the meal (with a pacific rim theme) we talk to some interesting dinner companions. The food is good but I am full a few courses before the end. This doesn't stop me, however. I do avoid the dessert. Then we have to stand in line for our wine. They say they have computerized and streamlined the whole process but the line takes forever. And we are close to the front. Finally, FFP is schlepping a six pack containing two Silver Oaks and some strange old 1970's wine (well, one of her table companions donated it). I am cradling the 1982 Latour that blew the budget. Ah, well. Like I say, you only live once and you don't want to leave money behind. Or wine. They say the wine is drinkable from now to thirty or forty years from now. I vote now.
Another day spent not doing much. Unless you consider eating well a victory or exercising (while reading) or catching up with friends a duty. Unless you consider discovering Samuel Pepys diary online a coup.
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It was sunny out and there could have been a good picture out there somewhere and then my companions in the evening wore their finest tuxes and slinky dresses and yet, trusty digital camera at the ready, I took no pictures.
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172
JUST
TYPING