The Visible Woman...October 11, 2003

The sweat, the dust, the not knowing what to do with stuff. The sadness at the amount of stuff and how little meaning it's managed to retain. Gone today. I think I've exorcised the demon by moving enough of it around, throwing enough away and taking some pleasure in what's left. I don't mind owning all those wine glasses (some Riedels but mostly cheap ones for a big party) that I have to move temporarily to the dining table to get them out of a big deco bar with mirrors and curves that will have to move. The bar itself doesn't seem like an albatross either. Rather I'm glad I own it although one day, when I downsize, it may be too big to go along. I enjoy the pictures and the old paper emphemera, even while consigning a few things to oblivion.

It rains. When we are going out, going downtown where one must part blocks away, I would normally consider this a problem. A gross inconvenience. I don't mind. I don't mind that the event isn't really to my liking. Too crowded and some of the entertainment intended to entertain school children or people who enjoy Indian (as in India) dancing. Not that there is anything wrong with such programs, per se. We are being pitched. The food and wine is free so we should have known we were being pitched. Still our good, level-headed friends are there who have even less eclectic tastes. (Less, I know, I really do have eclectic tastes. We prove this by going to see a violent cartoony short and a documentary about Henry Charles 'Hank' Bukowski who was, by some accounts, the 'best of the beat poets.' I confess I had never consciously heard of him. He is most famous for having written poetry, of course, which, generally I don't care for as much as prose. The documentary was excellent if a little long. We were sitting in chairs provided to the Driskill Hotel banquet department by the Uncomfortable but Stackable Chair Company. I didn't mind. I felt I was proving that I was open to different kinds of entertainment but that you could leave teaching about world percussion instruments at the elementary school. It was a specialty adults either enjoyed or not. And, if they did, they already knew and wanted to attend a concert of rocking percussionists.

Whatever. Today I don't really mind. I'm tolerant. Of my failiings and those of others.

Saturday, October 11, 2003

A Journal from Austin, Texas. A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.
food	reading	writing	time	exercise	health and mood

. Street photograph of FFP and his parents, circa 1947	I really don't mind Today I'm doing stuff that usually depresses me. Not today. The sweat, the dust, the not knowing what to do with stuff. The sadness at the amount of stuff and how little meaning it's managed to retain. Gone today. I think I've exorcised the demon by moving enough of it around, throwing enough away and taking some pleasure in what's left. I don't mind owning all those wine glasses (some Riedels but mostly cheap ones for a big party) that I have to move temporarily to the dining table to get them out of a big deco bar with mirrors and curves that will have to move. The bar itself doesn't seem like an albatross either. Rather I'm glad I own it although one day, when I downsize, it may be too big to go along. I enjoy the pictures and the old paper emphemera, even while consigning a few things to oblivion. It rains. When we are going out, going downtown where one must part blocks away, I would normally consider this a problem. A gross inconvenience. I don't mind. I don't mind that the event isn't really to my liking. Too crowded and some of the entertainment intended to entertain school children or people who enjoy Indian (as in India) dancing. Not that there is anything wrong with such programs, per se. We are being pitched. The food and wine is free so we should have known we were being pitched. Still our good, level-headed friends are there who have even less eclectic tastes. (Less, I know, I really do have eclectic tastes. We prove this by going to see a violent cartoony short and a documentary about Henry Charles 'Hank' Bukowski who was, by some accounts, the 'best of the beat poets.' I confess I had never consciously heard of him. He is most famous for having written poetry, of course, which, generally I don't care for as much as prose. The documentary was excellent if a little long. We were sitting in chairs provided to the Driskill Hotel banquet department by the Uncomfortable but Stackable Chair Company. I didn't mind. I felt I was proving that I was open to different kinds of entertainment but that you could leave teaching about world percussion instruments at the elementary school. It was a specialty adults either enjoyed or not. And, if they did, they already knew and wanted to attend a concert of rocking percussionists. Whatever. Today I don't really mind. I'm tolerant. Of my failiings and those of others.
JUST TYPING A day. I uncover. Photos when my mother-in-law looked so young. She was. Twenty-six or so. With a small son. She was. My age. I was marrying her son. I uncover. Our wedding announcement. Extra copies? How many to save? I uncover. A beat poet. I didn't know existed. Who lived 74 years. Who was ugly. But had women. Because he wrote. I unfurl. An Italian umbrella. Given to me by my birthday mate. Who is one year younger. It is something to own. With a fish handle.
		Food Diary. *breakfast* nothing *lunch* two small bowls salad greens with zuchinni, onion, cheese, brocolli, carrots, tomatoes, dressing *snack*s plate of nachos and the rest of a Miller Lite from yesterday a Dannon coffee yogurt (150 calories) dinner [event] some small Parmesan crisps with Goat Cheese and Baby Tomatoes Three glasses of red wine Spinach salad with Pecorino, Currants and Candied Pecans Jeffrey's Crispy Oysters with Habanero-honey Aioli Roasted Chicken Breast with Sherry-Tomatillo Salsa Grilled and Marinated Vegetables Some meat-stuffed ravioli thing that wasn't on the printed menu (mostly I typed the above from the menu) FFP felt he needed to eat queso when Texas was losing. I felt I needed to eat and drink at this event to get through it. (And nachos seemed like a good idea when he had queso.) It was nice and all, the event, but, um I don't know...I needed the food and drink. Not huge portions, though. I could have eaten my weight in the Parmesan crisps. I'm glad it was crowded and I couldn't get near them too many times.
		Time flies.... Didn't get back from club until 12:30 because I dawdled getting there and had a long workout to make up for only playing tennis yesterday.. Spent time going through more stuff. Moved a bunch of wine glasses and other glassware and shakers out of the bar that will have to move to escape harm's way. Emptied some drawers of stuff that I call 'archives and souvenirs' because I'm not sure if they will have to demolish these built-ins. Went through some of the reading material piled in the bedroom. Evening events started early, at 6PM, so had to shower and dress and be out of the house at 5:45. After the event we went to the Driskill and saw a film fest event. It was exactly midnight as we walked in the rain back to our car. And so, the days of our lives..

		Reading. I am reading D-Day and the Invastion of Normandy by Anthony Kemp. Read it on the bike. Feel like I want to go over the geography in my French road atlas. I like doing this early reading but I don't want to just read D-Day books for eight months.
		I barely found time for this journal.
		Exercise Thirty-two minutes on recumbent bike. My new workout for chest and triceps. Lots of abs and lower back and stretches. Thirty-one minutes on recumbent bike.
	.	Mood is upbeat. Physically fine. Back a little tight but doesn't hurt really. I can't believe my new workout which I've only done a few sets of can be making a difference in how I feel but somehow my muscles seem to be going up a level or I seem to have some new ones. Not that they are sore. The only sore muscle I've had lately is my right forearm...from tennis!