The Visible Woman...April 21, 2003

I am trying to be productive and can't and so I have to explain to myself why I don't work and yet can't accomplish anything.

The thing is: I really know where the time goes, don't I? I write it all down. I work out, I read, I watch other people work, I eat, I eat, I shop, I surf the WEB. I start straightening up the detritus that is my life and stop to read stuff poked in a file five or even ten years ago. (Today, for example, I go through a folder labeled 'Books.' Fascinating collection of articles on bookstores everywhere plus some of my own notes about stores including notes on The Strand in NYC written in the summer of 1986.)

I have this completely insane notion that if I get all the nooks and crannies of my office (particularly) and my house (generally) all straigtened out and organized that I will then be able to create something, write, come up with a second career, whatever I'm supposed to be doing with the rest of my life. But, yeah, I know, the organizing will never be finished because each day adds to the complications faster than my efforts to organize it can overcome. And, yeah, I drift too much, first thinking this is a priority, then that.

Dad is at the house when I get there. He and FFP have loaded up the super woofer in his van. (Careful readers will remember that this large, heavy floor-shaking device woke us up at 2:30 the other morning groaning loud enough to hurt your ears even though no connected components were on.) Dad says that we should take it and have some lunch.

I shower and we drop the sub woofer that lost its mind at Hi Fidelity, Inc. We go into Mario's Deli nearby and get one reuben and one pimento cheese and split them. Pretty good, but the Reubens are better at New World and 34th Street. No matter, this was convenient and the pimento cheese was really good. While I have the van, I pop over to Grapevine Market and get some party wine since we've just run out. Chuck recommends a cab, a merlot and a chardonnay and I get a case each and he gives me 20% off.

Not long after I get home, the electrician and his assistant (two of Forrest's cousins) show up to fix the light in the bathroom. This involves putting in a new plug and stuff. I occupy myself watching them, chatting with them, cleaning up sheetrock after them, paying them, etc. This morning before the gym I talked to another cousin (and his wife and grandson assistants) about redoing the pergola with a tin roof. We are always pouring money into this abode. I can't imagine having a bigger place. How would you supervise everybody?

As the electric guys leave, my dad's friend Maja stops by with my camera which I left at her house. She was in the neighborhood to drive someone to the doctor. I owe her an outing and we agree that we'll take them to Fonda for brunch on Sunday. Her sweet little grandson is with her. He's very cute.

I do some little administrative thing for FFP. And I start cleaning out the files in my office. And, yeah, I get distracted reading the stuff I'm sorting. And the day is gone. It's 5pm or something.

I have some strawberries, some cheese, some leftover rotisserie chicken. I work the puzzle in the Monday New York Times. I drink a Dr. Pepper. (Need to stop drinking sodas.)

We watch a little TV. Third Watch isn't grabbing me anymore because I don't care about Faith's 'way too attractive to have these parents' daughter's sexual and drug experimentation or Bosco's completely over-the-line sarge in vice. These stories don't grab me, Sully's miraculously cured of alcoholism and, ho hum, I don't care about Kim's affair with a druggy, older writer and killer who is supposed to be who? Norman Mailer?

But we get through that show to the end as if we are interested. We start watching Crossing Jordan but switch after about fifteen minutes. We were watching it instead of CSI: Miami because the latter was a rerun. Crossing Jordan, however, was the Woody Show. Setting up the new series, perhaps, they show Woody hunting when a body falls out of the sky...someone he knows and he goes to L.A. to investigate because that's where a plane he heard going over was rented, hello??? Well, I don't know how they worked the ME office in Boston into that but we flipped to CSI and weren't too disappointed in the rerun which we hadn't seen anyway.

Sure the CSI episode was one of those 'everyone in the family is dead except a toddler and Dad, who is injured, shot in the back, how could he have done it?' things where you just know he did. But the science and police work of figuring out what happened was entertaining. I guess.

Perhaps watching TV needs to give way in favor of other pursuits. Instead of watching series shows, maybe I should check the schedule for movies I want to see or documentaries or cooking shows. Or get rid of cable and just rent a DVD now and again. Of course, I only half watch TV while reading the papers.

Finally, I go to sleep, reading Journey Through Genius. Reading the first chapter in bed is better than on the bike. However, I do tend to want a pad, pencil, straight edge and compass because the chapter is about the quadrature of the lune. I studied a lot of math at one time but I remember very little until I read something. Even then, I've forgotten most of it so it is all new. Sad. Sometimes I think the purpose of my retirement is reeducate myself, to start over and follow a path again to becoming something, becoming a person who knows certain things. However, I'm well aware that I'm simply dabbling as always. [I just searched my site looking for the poem reproduced in Just Typing today. I couldn't find it. I was just sure I published it before, but I guess not. Fortunately, a small book I'd written it in just happened to be right in front of the computer.]

			honestly Sometimes you have to come clean. Tell all. Tell the truth. I am trying to be productive and can't and so I have to explain to myself why I don't work and yet can't accomplish anything. The thing is: I really know where the time goes, don't I? I write it all down. I work out, I read, I watch other people work, I eat, I eat, I shop, I surf the WEB. I start straightening up the detritus that is my life and stop to read stuff poked in a file five or even ten years ago. (Today, for example, I go through a folder labeled 'Books.' Fascinating collection of articles on bookstores everywhere plus some of my own notes about stores including notes on The Strand in NYC written in the summer of 1986.) I have this completely insane notion that if I get all the nooks and crannies of my office (particularly) and my house (generally) all straigtened out and organized that I will then be able to create something, write, come up with a second career, whatever I'm supposed to be doing with the rest of my life. But, yeah, I know, the organizing will never be finished because each day adds to the complications faster than my efforts to organize it can overcome. And, yeah, I drift too much, first thinking this is a priority, then that. I am up around 7:30, poking around on my computer over coffee. There isn't anything on the calendar. I need to do a few things, yeah. Somehow it is after nine-thirty when I get to the club. It is the day that I do my upper body workout. Some of the exercises are the narrow lat pulldown, the dumbbell pullover, the alternating dumbbell press, upright rowing, incline dumbbell fly, chest press. I'm still using relatively light weights but I think I'm improving and I have increased the weights on some things. I ride the bike before and after while reading The Object Stares Back (on the nature of seeing) by James Elkins. It is after eleven before I'm done because I probably did thirty minutes of bike. Dad is at the house when I get there. He and FFP have loaded up the super woofer in his van. (Careful readers will remember that this large, heavy floor-shaking device woke us up at 2:30 the other morning groaning loud enough to hurt your ears even though no connected components were on.) Dad says that we should take it and have some lunch. I shower and we drop the sub woofer that lost its mind at Hi Fidelity, Inc. We go into Mario's Deli nearby and get one reuben and one pimento cheese and split them. Pretty good, but the Reubens are better at New World and 34th Street. No matter, this was convenient and the pimento cheese was really good. While I have the van, I pop over to Grapevine Market and get some party wine since we've just run out. Chuck recommends a cab, a merlot and a chardonnay and I get a case each and he gives me 20% off. Not long after I get home, the electrician and his assistant (two of Forrest's cousins) show up to fix the light in the bathroom. This involves putting in a new plug and stuff. I occupy myself watching them, chatting with them, cleaning up sheetrock after them, paying them, etc. This morning before the gym I talked to another cousin (and his wife and grandson assistants) about redoing the pergola with a tin roof. We are always pouring money into this abode. I can't imagine having a bigger place. How would you supervise everybody? As the electric guys leave, my dad's friend Maja stops by with my camera which I left at her house. She was in the neighborhood to drive someone to the doctor. I owe her an outing and we agree that we'll take them to Fonda for brunch on Sunday. Her sweet little grandson is with her. He's very cute. I do some little administrative thing for FFP. And I start cleaning out the files in my office. And, yeah, I get distracted reading the stuff I'm sorting. And the day is gone. It's 5pm or something. I have some strawberries, some cheese, some leftover rotisserie chicken. I work the puzzle in the Monday New York Times. I drink a Dr. Pepper. (Need to stop drinking sodas.) We watch a little TV. Third Watch isn't grabbing me anymore because I don't care about Faith's 'way too attractive to have these parents' daughter's sexual and drug experimentation or Bosco's completely over-the-line sarge in vice. These stories don't grab me, Sully's miraculously cured of alcoholism and, ho hum, I don't care about Kim's affair with a druggy, older writer and killer who is supposed to be who? Norman Mailer? But we get through that show to the end as if we are interested. We start watching Crossing Jordan but switch after about fifteen minutes. We were watching it instead of CSI: Miami because the latter was a rerun. Crossing Jordan, however, was the Woody Show. Setting up the new series, perhaps, they show Woody hunting when a body falls out of the sky...someone he knows and he goes to L.A. to investigate because that's where a plane he heard going over was rented, hello??? Well, I don't know how they worked the ME office in Boston into that but we flipped to CSI and weren't too disappointed in the rerun which we hadn't seen anyway. Sure the CSI episode was one of those 'everyone in the family is dead except a toddler and Dad, who is injured, shot in the back, how could he have done it?' things where you just know he did. But the science and police work of figuring out what happened was entertaining. I guess. Perhaps watching TV needs to give way in favor of other pursuits. Instead of watching series shows, maybe I should check the schedule for movies I want to see or documentaries or cooking shows. Or get rid of cable and just rent a DVD now and again. Of course, I only half watch TV while reading the papers. Finally, I go to sleep, reading Journey Through Genius. Reading the first chapter in bed is better than on the bike. However, I do tend to want a pad, pencil, straight edge and compass because the chapter is about the quadrature of the lune. I studied a lot of math at one time but I remember very little until I read something. Even then, I've forgotten most of it so it is all new. Sad. Sometimes I think the purpose of my retirement is reeducate myself, to start over and follow a path again to becoming something, becoming a person who knows certain things. However, I'm well aware that I'm simply dabbling as always. [I just searched my site looking for the poem reproduced in Just Typing today. I couldn't find it. I was just sure I published it before, but I guess not. Fortunately, a small book I'd written it in just happened to be right in front of the computer.]

	bluebonnets with new cactus growth wildflowers on purpose "Success is relative: It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things." T.S. Eliot, The Family Reunion, 1939
	JUST TYPING Dabbler, Babbler, Dilettante Flitting about Cannot stop. Focus Free Excuse me, I must hop!

Monday, April 21, 2003