The Visible Woman...March 13, 2003

I got to the club around six. I did 45+ minutes on the bicycle and some arm exercises.

Got home and made some decaf coffee for FFP's meeting and put out milk, sugar, cups, etc.

While FFP had his meeting, I worked on this journal. I didn't want to leave earlier because of traffic but I was all packed and ready. I didn't make much progress, though. It's hard to catch up. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried. Perhaps I should have just let those days go dark and started back in real time. In any case, I'm going to be away from the computer for a day or two. So I will keep a paper journal. Which is different. Because you don't get to read it and because I'll probably lose track of it. Not that I mightn't lose track of this HTML, too.

Dad arrived a little before ten as the last of FFP's meeting participants broke up. A little after ten, armed with some coffee, we took off with him driving. He drove to West, a town north of Waco where The Czech Stop is our traditional pull-out. We had a restroom break and I bought us some food to eat for lunch (pimento cheese sandwich to split, a couple of deviled eggs, a sausage roll for Dad). I also bought a pound cake and some sausage rolls for a contribution to the general eating of relatives.

I drove the rest of the way. We went to Mesquite and found the very cheap motel I'd booked. Crossland is the low end of some chain of extended stay hotels. The place seems OK, though. Clean enough with a decent-looking shower, a couple of chairs and a table, a coffee pot, microwave, fridge. No coffee, though, although a buck buys a coffee dose and accroutements from the vending machine. Well, the place is only $39/night. Cheaper by the week although it's hard to imagine staying in such a place for a long time.

We went to my aunt's apartment. She and her husband live in Maine. But in many years they spend from mid-November to some time in March in Texas in an apartment in this very dreary suburbia. Because it's warmer and closer to some relatives.

She has gone through some old souvenir spoons that my other Aunt (now dead over a decade) collected to give to me and my sister. She has saved some slides out of that aunt's accumulation that have my picture or my sister's in them, too. We look at those.

We watch Who Wants to be a Millionaire? When the cocktail hour arrives, we have a drink. They like Canadian Whiskey with Seven Up. I prefer mine with water and say so in time to get it that way.

Dad and I had changed when we arrived into halfway decent clothing. We called an old friend of my parents (a widow) and told her that we'd pick her up at 6:15. I'd arranged a restaurant reservation in Dallas and arranged with this lady for her to join us.

We took off for St. Martin's Wine Bistro on Lower Greenville with me driving. I managed to find the place and leave the car in the care of the valet parker. The place wasn't crowded but it was quite pleasant. A black man in a bright green V-neck sweater that looked like a tennis sweater played standards on the piano. We had a 2001 Acacia Pinot Noir. I had foie gras and some amazing duck. Rich food. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. They don't often bust out of the franchises out in suburbia.

Back at my aunt's apartment we played a couple of rounds of a domino game called Spinners. It's pretty mindless. We enjoyed it, though. My stomach felt a little upset from the rich food or the responsibility for the happiness of old folks. Or both. In the strange bed (but with two down pillows I brought along) I slept.

			long day I got to the club around six. I did 45+ minutes on the bicycle and some arm exercises. Got home and made some decaf coffee for FFP's meeting and put out milk, sugar, cups, etc. Showered and dressed. While FFP had his meeting, I worked on this journal. I didn't want to leave earlier because of traffic but I was all packed and ready. I didn't make much progress, though. It's hard to catch up. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried. Perhaps I should have just let those days go dark and started back in real time. In any case, I'm going to be away from the computer for a day or two. So I will keep a paper journal. Which is different. Because you don't get to read it and because I'll probably lose track of it. Not that I mightn't lose track of this HTML, too. Dad arrived a little before ten as the last of FFP's meeting participants broke up. A little after ten, armed with some coffee, we took off with him driving. He drove to West, a town north of Waco where The Czech Stop is our traditional pull-out. We had a restroom break and I bought us some food to eat for lunch (pimento cheese sandwich to split, a couple of deviled eggs, a sausage roll for Dad). I also bought a pound cake and some sausage rolls for a contribution to the general eating of relatives. I drove the rest of the way. We went to Mesquite and found the very cheap motel I'd booked. Crossland is the low end of some chain of extended stay hotels. The place seems OK, though. Clean enough with a decent-looking shower, a couple of chairs and a table, a coffee pot, microwave, fridge. No coffee, though, although a buck buys a coffee dose and accroutements from the vending machine. Well, the place is only $39/night. Cheaper by the week although it's hard to imagine staying in such a place for a long time. We went to my aunt's apartment. She and her husband live in Maine. But in many years they spend from mid-November to some time in March in Texas in an apartment in this very dreary suburbia. Because it's warmer and closer to some relatives. She has gone through some old souvenir spoons that my other Aunt (now dead over a decade) collected to give to me and my sister. She has saved some slides out of that aunt's accumulation that have my picture or my sister's in them, too. We look at those. We watch Who Wants to be a Millionaire? When the cocktail hour arrives, we have a drink. They like Canadian Whiskey with Seven Up. I prefer mine with water and say so in time to get it that way. Dad and I had changed when we arrived into halfway decent clothing. We called an old friend of my parents (a widow) and told her that we'd pick her up at 6:15. I'd arranged a restaurant reservation in Dallas and arranged with this lady for her to join us. We took off for St. Martin's Wine Bistro on Lower Greenville with me driving. I managed to find the place and leave the car in the care of the valet parker. The place wasn't crowded but it was quite pleasant. A black man in a bright green V-neck sweater that looked like a tennis sweater played standards on the piano. We had a 2001 Acacia Pinot Noir. I had foie gras and some amazing duck. Rich food. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. They don't often bust out of the franchises out in suburbia. Back at my aunt's apartment we played a couple of rounds of a domino game called Spinners. It's pretty mindless. We enjoyed it, though. My stomach felt a little upset from the rich food or the responsibility for the happiness of old folks. Or both. In the strange bed (but with two down pillows I brought along) I slept.

	Times Square stripes "On several occasions I have actually read parts of my diary aloud to someone. But too much 'publicity' is destructive to a diary, because the diarist begins, unconsciously perhaps, to leave out, to tone down, to pep up, to falsify experience, and the reason for the undertaking becomes buried beneath posings." Gail Godwin, A Diarist on Diarists
	JUST TYPING Up earlier. Change routine. Driving. Strange Bed.

Thursday, March 13, 2003