The Visible Woman...April 7, 2003

Monday mission

I almost get up early but the time has me at odds, that lost hour. So I don't. I get up after eight, after FFP has been to club, eaten, showered dressed and decided, talking out loud to himself, not to take a client he thinks is starting an ill-advised business.

I have coffee, sit in front of my computer, doing little frameworks and touch ups for this silly journal. I work for a few minutes on cleaning up old mail files. I've been doing this lately. It is sad sometimes. I read mail my mother sent me in October 2001 while I was out of the country on business. She says, "My chest really hurts." Now I know it was probably pain in her ribs. They were x-raying her for pulmonary problems then. They didn't figure it out. But now we know.

I go to the gym. This is the day I do a version of the workout that includes back, shoulders and, of course, the dreaded abs and aerobics. I'm reading Lorrie Moore's short story collection entitled Self-Help. She uses a number of strategies to get the stories off the ground. Going backwards in time. Punning to cover pain. Pretending that the events are self-help advice. Brilliant stuff. She can really write. I like written puns but am not a fan of them in conversations. Funny, neither are the characters who are subjected to her protagonists' punning.

I have read a lot since I retired, it seems. I'm still hopelessly behind on The New Yorker and Harper's magazines and all the newspapers. But I read books. Mostly before bed and on the exercise bike. And at traffic lights on the way somewhere and back. It's remarkable the power of a book to change a light.

I am having a board meeting here for Austin Cabaret Theater. One thing that I've decided I can do for groups who are short meeting space is provide a meeting place. Also provide a place for benefits. This is something I like to do and it makes me pick up shoes and ancient magazines. My solution to chaos is, um, move it all around once in a while and, if possible, toss some things out during this process. I put a bunch of magazines in the recycling today. There are still too many The New Yorkers and Harper's and stuff lying around. But I got rid of some of it. When I have people over, however, my office becomes more and more of a disaster with piles of newspaper and other stuff to deal with.

So, yeah, I straighten up, move things around to have the meeting. It's a small meeting...eight or ten people. FFP is going to a ballet party of some kind. I do laundry, put away dishes, sweep up a bit. So domestic. I'm not on this board. I'm just hosting their meeting and offering the house and some ideas for a fund-raiser.

Finally, I decide that I have to get showered up, pick up the food for the evening.

I pick up the food. I probably warm it in the oven a little early but I make up for that by putting it on a warming tray to hold and that works nicely. I serve red and white wine, offer other stuff. One person wants gin on the rocks, no tonic, no citrus. The others drink wine and water. You never know what people will ask for. I try to have most things available. They go for the first thing you offer, most of them.

The meeting breaks up at a reasonable hour. I clean up the dishes. FFP comes home and helps me finish folding the laundry.

I crawl in bed with me book. And fall asleep.

some of books I've read, mostly in the last six months

"Why do people always expect authors to answer questions? I am an author because I want to ask questions. If I had answers, I'd be a politician."

Eugene Ionesco

JUST TYPING
Old magazines.
Books.
Crying out,
"Read me!"
Trying to get attention.
Picture books.
I'd forgotten.
Would be nice to sit and look at them.

			Monday mission I almost get up early but the time has me at odds, that lost hour. So I don't. I get up after eight, after FFP has been to club, eaten, showered dressed and decided, talking out loud to himself, not to take a client he thinks is starting an ill-advised business. I have coffee, sit in front of my computer, doing little frameworks and touch ups for this silly journal. I work for a few minutes on cleaning up old mail files. I've been doing this lately. It is sad sometimes. I read mail my mother sent me in October 2001 while I was out of the country on business. She says, "My chest really hurts." Now I know it was probably pain in her ribs. They were x-raying her for pulmonary problems then. They didn't figure it out. But now we know. I go to the gym. This is the day I do a version of the workout that includes back, shoulders and, of course, the dreaded abs and aerobics. I'm reading Lorrie Moore's short story collection entitled Self-Help. She uses a number of strategies to get the stories off the ground. Going backwards in time. Punning to cover pain. Pretending that the events are self-help advice. Brilliant stuff. She can really write. I like written puns but am not a fan of them in conversations. Funny, neither are the characters who are subjected to her protagonists' punning. I have read a lot since I retired, it seems. I'm still hopelessly behind on The New Yorker and Harper's magazines and all the newspapers. But I read books. Mostly before bed and on the exercise bike. And at traffic lights on the way somewhere and back. It's remarkable the power of a book to change a light. I am having a board meeting here for Austin Cabaret Theater. One thing that I've decided I can do for groups who are short meeting space is provide a meeting place. Also provide a place for benefits. This is something I like to do and it makes me pick up shoes and ancient magazines. My solution to chaos is, um, move it all around once in a while and, if possible, toss some things out during this process. I put a bunch of magazines in the recycling today. There are still too many The New Yorkers and Harper's and stuff lying around. But I got rid of some of it. When I have people over, however, my office becomes more and more of a disaster with piles of newspaper and other stuff to deal with. So, yeah, I straighten up, move things around to have the meeting. It's a small meeting...eight or ten people. FFP is going to a ballet party of some kind. I do laundry, put away dishes, sweep up a bit. So domestic. I'm not on this board. I'm just hosting their meeting and offering the house and some ideas for a fund-raiser. Finally, I decide that I have to get showered up, pick up the food for the evening. I pick up the food. I probably warm it in the oven a little early but I make up for that by putting it on a warming tray to hold and that works nicely. I serve red and white wine, offer other stuff. One person wants gin on the rocks, no tonic, no citrus. The others drink wine and water. You never know what people will ask for. I try to have most things available. They go for the first thing you offer, most of them. The meeting breaks up at a reasonable hour. I clean up the dishes. FFP comes home and helps me finish folding the laundry. I crawl in bed with me book. And fall asleep.

	some of books I've read, mostly in the last six months "Why do people always expect authors to answer questions? I am an author because I want to ask questions. If I had answers, I'd be a politician." Eugene Ionesco
	JUST TYPING Old magazines. Books. Crying out, "Read me!" Trying to get attention. Picture books. I'd forgotten. Would be nice to sit and look at them.

Monday, April 7, 2003