The Stuff, buttoned up

AUSTIN, Texas, May 31, 2004 — It's a relief to button up the luggage with just the stuff you will wear and stuff in your pockets left and a couple of cases open to symbolize stuff that is still in use that will have to be packed.

However, it's also scary. When everything was spread out on all the available surfaces in the guest room or hanging in the closet, you could find stuff and reassure yourself that it was being packed. When you have to unpack to find something and then fit everything back in, it is frustrating. And lists, planning and all that aside, I'm sure to start worrying about whether something is in the bags and in which one. I keep things organized (and less wrinkled, etc.) with internal bags for little stuff and some clothes. This is good in that you can go through a bag and get it back together pretty easily. But it's bad in that you may have to look through several places to see where you put something. Changing your mind at the last minute about where to pack something creates a sinking feeling later as you look in the first place and don't find it.

I guess I'm especially paranoid about packing on this trip because (1) FFP is going and I'm trying to make sure he has everything he needs; (2) I'm trying to pack light but we will be gone for seventeen days; (3) there are the usual post 9/11 security concerns with Normandy security added on. When it's just me, I think I'll make do. The curves security concerns have thrown me in the past, I think, keep getting internalized and building up until I hardly know what to expect. I have made a valiant effort to keep the weight and bulk down. But our combined luggage is sixty-eight pounds. Thirty-four pounds a piece. That includes everything, pretty much, even some last minute things that aren't packed yet like my camera and FFP's electric razor and charger. We have five bags with a twenty-nine pound one to check. I have an eight pound backpack and FFP a four pound one. We have an eighteen pound small rollerboard to carry on. I can hold it over my head for ten seconds. (Important if we are to put overhead on the plane. I can sort of lift the twenty-nine pound one over my head, at least briefly. Important for handling it off the belt and possibly overhead on the train even though it has wheels.) We also have a small bag to carry on that weighs nine pounds. This one has a strap and a slot to fit on the handle of the roller board. It will go overhead. Needless to say I can lift it over my head as it weighs half what the roller board does. The only extra weight we will have is what we accumulate at the airport but this weight already includes three trade paperbacks neither one of us has read. We will acquire some water bottles for sure. If I know FFP, he will pick up something else. Actually I'm pretty famous for acquiring things in the airport and paper 'souvenirs' along the way myself. I have been known in the past to take along nearly worn out clothes and toss them along the way. This isn't the case this time. I'd like to get home with all these clothes to wear another day. Needless to say, I've considered the possibility that my checked bag won't make it. That's why so much carryon. It contains some of our clothes and our extra shoes.

It feels good to be pretty much packed. I have all the rest of the day and tomorrow to continue to fret, er just relax.

The Stuff, continued

AUSTIN, Texas, May 30, 2004 — To continue yesterday's essay, there is the spector of not taking the right stuff and then the spector of getting things ripped off. My friend and the travel organizer of a lot of aspects of this trip sent the state department's advisory about the rip offs on the streets, Metro, train stations of Paris and warnings of car break-ins in Normandy. It's enough to make you paranoid. I have never been fingered for a wallet, passport or camera up to now in Europe. (Once in Washington, D.C. I think someone stole my wallet but I may have just lost it. I had some traveler's checks elsewhere and you didn't need a photo ID to ride a plane in those days.) But those very close to me have lost stuff. In Paris as a matter of fact. In 1984, my niece was a victim of a push and grab and exit the Metro car scam. We got to get her a new passport in Paris and replace her traveler's checks and plane ticket. She didn't have much else. The Paris police found her wallet later and mailed the passport and school pix (no cash, of course) to Colorado. Big hassle for me...she recovered nicely. I felt so responsible. The arrival or her passport, fortunately, did not happen before I got her home. Taking responsibility for someone else's sixteen-year-old kid! Whew. I'd never do that again. Then in 1997 on the Rue de Rivoli my friend had her camera taken from her bag but nothing else. Funny because we had just searched around to find a battery for it. But it was apparently broken because it didn't work even with a new battery. So the thief got a busted camera.

So, yeah, lots of people target travelers. Hence my money and credit cards are usually (1) in several different locations; and (2) on my person...not in a bag I drape here and there on my person or chairs or the back of toilet stall doors. I generally wear pants with pockets, a jacket with two inside pockets. Plus I have a holster-style thing under my arm under my clothes which will contain extra credit cards, cash, an ATM card, and, on days when they probably won't be required, passports. I will use a hotel safe if I have one available to leave behind some cash and a credit card.

I generally carry an extra wallet on trips. I insert a few frequent flier cards, maybe one credit card, a small amount of cash. I'll put transportation passes or tickets, stamps, stuff like that in it. I use it to pay for things and replace it in my front pants pocket. I try to give the impression, especially in certain situations, that it is my only wallet.

Paranoid? Not really. Once I'm prepared I just stay watchful and try to not present a target. A dangling purse or a waist pack that seems to contain all your wordly goods (or at least your financial ones) or a backpack with your wallet and passport in it is an invitation to the lower elements. I sometimes carry a backpack. In certain situations, it may even have a wallet hidden away with some money in it. But usually you steal my back pack and you get a map of the city, a book, some water and maybe a snack. Go for it.

Be prepared. Then have fun.

Being Prepared Vs. Traveling Light

AUSTIN, Texas, May 29, 2004 — Packing is a fascination with me. How does one travel light and yet be prepared for various situations? How do you organize so that you have what you need at hand?

My solution involves thinking about the situations you will be in and what you need and how to have 'back up.' And through it all when and where you must carry and lift it.

I pack a backpack with things for the plane that you need close at hand. Inside it I pack a waistpack that I can strap on in the plane to hold things I'm using...so the backpack can go under the seat. In this backpack are toiletries and drugs for the plane as well as some emergency food and a book and crosswords, my Palm Pilot, a translator with a word game that can entertain, a notebook, a pen, my digital camera and a few emergency things. Spare eyeglasses will also go here. FFP will have a similar backpack with emergency food, spare glasses and book as well as pills and toiletries for the plane. We will have water bottles in each pack when we board the plane for the long flight.

Also to carry on we have a small roller board and another small bag. They will have our spare shoes, some clean undies and socks, our windbreakers, clean slacks and shirts, and folders with maps, info, car and hotel confirms, train tickets, museum passes organized by areas we will visit. There will also be a fold-up duffle. It will be used as a suitcase for things we have to buy if the checked luggage is lost. In one of these bags will be extra batteries for gadgets, a tiny travel alarm/calendar/calculator, a charger for the digital camera battery with adaptors for Europe and the car. There will also be a small case with compass, flashlight, map light, kleenex and such for the car we will drive when we arrive. The idea is that these carryons can go overhead and probably stay there until we arrive. We are carrying them on to insure that certain essentials arrive with us.

In the checked luggage (one rollerboard, larger than carryon but not too large) we will have extra blazers (we will each wear one), a light sweater each (it will be cool or cold and breezy in Normandy but if the bag is lost we will buy a sweat shirt or something), additional long-sleeved shirts and slacks or jeans, additional underwear and socks, bathing suits, a polo shirt each, a T-Shirt and knit shorts for me (sleeping, relaxing). Also in this bag will be additional toiletries: extra toothpaste, Woolite packs to wash out undies or socks, small soap, implements like razors and clippers that excite security checkers, shampoo, etc. Stuff we won't need on the plane, could replace. The main compartment will be secured with a cable tie. Inside the available front pocket will be a Swiss Army Knife with scissors and corkscrew. This will remove the cable tie. (Security, if they open a bag, generally replaces the tie for you. The color change is a tip that it's been opened. I also snip the end of the one I place on the bag.) Of course, once you arrive and when you are not passing security to get in a museum or event, the knife is a handy companion for picnics and emergencies. Also in this outside pocket will be a summary of the itinerary to assist in the bag finding us if necessary.

For all this preparation and thought, I find that I'm generally searching around for where I packed something. And, of course, as the trip progresses and you go out on day trips and change locations, as you wear clothes until they need cleaning, you are constantly moving stuff around and using it as necessary.

I have made a real effort to eliminate stuff on this trip. I have pared and pruned and thought of how I could do without stuff. I have hefted things in my hand to see if they are worth the weight. I have a couple of things that will only go in if I have the weight to spare.

I remember the trip (for business) I was packing for around September 11, 2001. I took a picture of the things I decided not to take after all for this journal. I can't say as I missed the stuff terribly. I did have to get some shirts laundered in Florence.

I keep a master list for this packing task. I adapt the list for each trip and check it many times. Some people say they like this packing thing...anticipating the trip. But I think I just feel that it is necesasry. I don't understand the people who throw things in a bag at the last minute without some due consideration.

A Sense of Dread

AUSTIN, Texas, May 28, 2004 — Sometimes you just get this sense that things are not going to go well. Even though they are fine, really.

My nieces are headed off on a long car trip, my dad isn't feeling well, FFP's shoulder is injured, my right little toe hurts. A terminal at our arrival airport in France collapsed possibly adding to the confusion on arrival there. Normandy is reportedly already crowded with people. We are to arrive on Thursday and have a pretty good drive in an unfamiliar car. I am worried about packing everything we need and packing so we can exist if the checked luggage doesn't arrive and have carry-ons meant to go overhead and stay there and have entertainments and necessities at hand. I am worried about getting the house sitter and other people checked out on what to do.

Everything is really fine. But if one watches the news and realizes how lucky one has been up to this point, one can fall into a bit of a funk, feeling that surely something bad is going to happen.

Maybe I've been reading too many stories of the battle for Normandy, with blown limbs and dead bodies and unbearable conditions. You would think that would make me confident what with all the resources we have to make our trek, though.

I'm sure when I'm sitting inside the security gates at the airport, waiting to go, helpless to prepare further or change events, that I'll be fine.

But right now there is a little sense of dread.

Visualize yourself in the World

AUSTIN, Texas, May 27, 2004 — I'm thinking about trip packing for the trip this summer.

I have a master list that I've evolved over time to include any possible trip and to include FFP as well. I make a computer copy and remove things that I want need for a particular trip. I'm trying to really reduce the number of things we take on this trip and yet have enough for the different adventures. If a trip is long enough and you stay put for a few days, you can get some laundry done. Theoretically.

I try to visualize myself traveling around, what I'm wearing and using. Trying to cover all the bases and not forget anything.

I always say that if you have some good shoes, money and your passport all will be well. But it actually helps to have a few other things along.

Teach Your Children Well

AUSTIN, Texas, May 26, 2004 — I spent a lot of time with the kids today. I don't know how my great nephews will turn out but I think my niece is doing her best to see to their health, mental development and manners. And it is a constant struggle of little curiosities and the world's distractions.

Jenny has her share of having to kiss real and imagined hurts and having to comfort the kids and they try to turn on tears to get their way. The latter doesn't work with her, though, so it's half-hearted at best. "We can go on a nature walk, but only if you put on your happy face." "You have one more minute to play and then we go home." She walks away and they follow. Because they figure she's serious.

These kids get an occasional sip of soda but, mostly, they get juice cut with water or milk or plain water. "I want soda." "You can have water or milk."

Takes a lot of patience not to give in. Jack broke a pot on Dad's screen porch and Jen made him apologize and ask for his great-granddad's forgiveness. I bought him the Brother Bear CD and he was told to thank me 'a bunch' and he did. I spelled my niece watching them climbing around over at the Arboretum Shopping Center today. Jeffy wanted to climb something and needed a boost. Jack helped him. "Thank you, Jack," he said. "You're welcome, Jeffy." Jack responded. I had to laugh. She's been drilling them on those manners.

For all the scrambling up every incline or rock and walking every ledge, the little two-year-old red-haired scamp sat quietly in my lap, propping the pages open with his foot and let me read him two books and part of another, pointing at the requisite times.

The kids get some outdoor activity every day. They are read to and, while allowed to watch videos it is limited to the amount and quality Jen decides. They eat between adventures and have junk stuff but some good stuff, too.

It's a struggle to guide kids through life these crazy days. I'm surprised anyone succeeds. It's good to see that kids don't really need to be given in to at every turn nor have a lot of stuff to be happy, though. Now if we can just keep the little one from escaping. Twice he's found the front door at Dad's open and started to take his leave of us and seek adventure in the bigger world outside.

I'm tired of it now

AUSTIN, Texas, May 25, 2004 — I'm sort of tired of the journal. Oh, there are still things I like about it and I think the new format is better for me and allows me to think more clearly. I'm not really looking forward to setting up the new month, though.

As happens occasionally, I'm considering dumping the journal for other WEB projects and other non-WEB things. And that makes me consider what it is that always draws me back to doing it in some form.

Is it just that I feel it is my bully pulpit, my place to expound where no one can stop me?

Or is there something more going on? Is it that unreasonable desire to tell everyone everything cited by one Spalding Gray, now, ominously, dead by his own hand? (Or legs. I guess jumpers are dead by their own legs.) For the record, I'm not suicidal at this juncture of my life.

Is it really just an attempt to record myself for myself and is putting it on the WEB just a way to get the discipline and to try to preserve it outside my immediate vicinity?

Why does anyone do anything?

The latest book I'm reading about the events surrounding D-Day almost sixty years ago is based almost entirely on diaries. From a prisoner and a Jew in hiding to the common soldiers and the leaders of events there was a desire to write it down.

it gives you pause

AUSTIN, Texas, May 24, 2004 — "We were just there," says the woman in my water aerobics class. She had been to Greece and had connected through the Air France terminal to come home. The new Terminal 2E, that is. The one that collapsed yesterday. Due to poor construction, perhaps, rather than terrorism.

It gives you pause.

In 1984 a few weeks before I passed through the Frankfurt airport with my oldest niece (then 16), they had a small explosive set off in the arrivals hall. I don't think anyone was hurt. It put the airport on heightened alert, though, and changed procedures and gave us pause. We stood on the tarmac and, one by one, identified our bags as we boarded. This was before Lockerbie (1988) which would instigate the famous questioning including whether you were packing a hair dryer.

It gives you pause when you have passed through or are about to and something happens. "I am going to be near there in a few weeks." Or "I was just there." Why that moment and not your moment?

You never know. I keep saying that. What is a safe place? Maybe the place you are is safe. Now. We just never know.

family

AUSTIN, Texas, May 23, 2004 — It's a loose concept, family. Oh, people try to make it an ironclad ethic: family values and all that.

But it is really more elusive that that. People are adopted into the fold who have no blood ties. Heck, marriage and all its variations are the best examples. Ideally the two people have almost no blood relation (for genetic reasons). Then, of course, we adopt children.

My niece (the oldest) is adopted. Her two little boys look sort of like her. She and her boys are family as surely as if she were the issue of my sister.

Of course, some people don't act like family toward those closest to them blood-wise: mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, etc.

It's an elusive concept family. A great feeling when you have it but only if you understand what the tie that binds really is: love, support and caring.

ghosts

AUSTIN, Texas, May 22, 2004 — I guess I would call them 'lurkers' but an e-mail from a reader said he 'felt like a ghost.' But he just kept reading.

It's apt, I suppose. Ghosts can, allegedly, see and hear us but we can't see or hear them. Usually. So maybe the (mostly silent) readers of this mess are like ghosts. Except, of course, I edit what the ghosts see and hear.

Today a woman at the event we attended said she had read my journal. "I was only a loyal reader for two or three days," she said. I was relieved somehow. She mentioned the fact that I record everything I eat and all my exercise. "You don't have to tell all that!" Indeed. Why do I? I have no idea. But the 'tell all' thing may be an illusion.

Yesterday I got a wedding invitation. It was totally classy (hand calligraphy addressing looks like, embossing, no crass inserts with online gift registeries). Of course, I immediately had to e-mail my friend (the mother of the groom) and ask if the happy couple was registered anywhere. Yes. And online, too. So where am I going with this? Well, if they weren't registered online I was going to get a friend to buy, wrap, ship for me as I'm sort of occupied at the moment. So when I found the online stuff and got it done in my own less than classy way I sent my friend an e-mail to say that she wouldn't get the personal shopping work.

And, this is so funny, and is, I assure you, getting back to the point. I told her that "it occurs to me that it is kind of embarrassing to have all the SH** you want out there for the world to see and critcize." My friend laughed at me, of course, and said, "I enjoy you thinking it's embarrassing for them to show the things they want to acquire when you put all your thoughts and actions on the web for anyone who wants to stumble on them. Now THAT seems weird to me." She's right, of course. I'm much weirder than people registering for wedding gifts. Yep, this young couple has no idea about weird and I am it.

The ghosts only know that this couple wants sort of brownish expensive sheets and other household things like blenders, pans, dinnerware and flatware. But the ghosts must think they know everything about me. And maybe they do. Sigh. Comfort can be taken however in the basic impatience with reading all that stuff!

it's not our anniversary

AUSTIN, Texas, May 21, 2004 — No, but it is coming up some time soon so we decided to celebrate tonight. Good wine, good food, just us.

FFP made me a card and I made him one. We both used a printer to make it. He used some nice paper. His message was "Thank God we don't have to write personals. You're everything I could want. Happy Anniversary. It's still a great ride." To illustrate he found this personal online:

Whew! I was kind of with that personal writer until the spanking part. Yeah, thank god to not be dating. I couldn't have said it better. But I tried:

And I illustrated it with this picture (ca. 1989).

So, yeah, it isn't our anniversary but we are celebrating and later this summer, when it is also not our anniversary we will take our honeymoon. We've been married oh so long. But we've never had a trip that lasted more than five days or so! So this trip will be our honeymoon. If everyone waited this long to have a honeymoon, there would be lots fewer such trips.

my fantastic life

AUSTIN, Texas, May 20, 2004 — Today is another day when I feel like giving the chronology and the essay the same title. One backs up the other.

I am still reading D-Day stuff as you all know. The current tome is drawn from diary entries from different people in the days leading up to D-Day.

So, yeah, I have a fantastic life.

When I want to keep my diary I have a computer, WEB space, software. I'm not in jail in Norway for producing an underground anti-Nazi paper trying to keep a journal by writing with pin pricks on toilet paper.

When I want something to eat, I go to the frig and there is fresh produce, yogurt, meat, cheese, fish. There is a microwave to make food hot fast. I'm not lighting a wick on a can of 'self-heating' soup or eating some sealed up C-rations.

When I want a cup of coffee, I push a button for grind, tamp and pump and the water (double-filtered) is pumped at precisely a drinkable temperature into my Too Much Coffe Man cup. I don't have to drink ersatz coffee made from chicory and who knows what.

If I wanted to go to, say, Normandy, I could fly to Paris, rent a car and drive on nice highways (albeit paying a few tolls). I don't have to drop out of an airplane into trees and flooded ground or, worse yet, the middle of a enemy-occupied town. I don't have to wade ashore under fire carrying explosives or a flame-thrower tank. I don't have to try to make it to the beach in a heavy swell in a Sherman tank with an inflatable skirt.

No one is shooting at me today. Or ever. I've never been within a hundred miles of a bombing or a plane used as a weapon.

When I make a decision it might affect my health, safety and well-being or my financial future. It might even effect my familly or friends. I don't have to decide to postpone a giant invasion one day and then, with a huge storm raging outside, decide to unleash an armada of boats and thousands and thousands of men and millions of pounds of material into an amphibious invasion.

I can go out on the street. I don't have to be afraid that soldiers will arrest me, put me in a boxcar and send me to forced labor or death. All because I was born, born into a certain family.

Yep. I have one fantastic life. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

meetings

AUSTIN, Texas, May 19, 2004 — Today in one meeting I was struck by how an administrator can become so entrenched about costs that they forget they can increase revenue. That you can get more people in the place if the product is good and the service is quick when people want it quick and paced when people want it slower.

In another meeting I ask what the meaning was of two columns on a spreadsheet. I got all manner of confusing answers. People kept babbling but not saying what the columns were. Some didn't know but felt they should talk, I think. They had that tone like we should just move on that it was clear to smarter folks. Others offered some reasonable explanation but it didn't track with some of the figures. Finally I said, "That's interesting but what do the columns mean? What is the definition of each one?"

"Well yours is a typo."

"OK, what should it be? And what are the columns supposed to mean?"

And they finally told me. Someone even suggested adding another column. Then someone chided me saying, "You think this spreadsheet needs another column?" Because it was already on legal paper, landscape. "No, I just wanted to know what they meant." Then one guy says, "Whenever you present something like this people go deaf while they look up their own numbers." I had however reviewed every line of the thing trying to make sense of it while he was not there because he was quite late for the meeting. So I said, "Actually, I reviewed the whole thing." I mean, sure, putting a bad value in the line by my name did confuse me. People seem to think anything they kick out in Word and PowerPoint should just be honored even if it is confusing or just plain wrong. They don't want you cross-checking it. And they are insulting when you do. Doesn't stop me, though.

When I worked, I got paid (and handsomely) to go to meetings and hear non sequiturs, power plays and lots of just plain babbling stupidity.

To tell you the truth, these non-profit things are actually a lot better. Even though I don't get paid. In fact, I'm usually expected to pony up some money, too. The people usually all have a reasonable agenda and it's only ego that gets them babbling, not power plays or corporate intrigue.

So I didn't really mind these meetings because they make about a thousand times more sense than some work meetings I've been in, but I was reminded how much waste and confusion there can be. And I was reminded how if you point out any confusion in anything presented that everyone will get all defensive and lecture you about everything but the answer to the question you ask. And, of course, I was reminded how hard it is to come to a decision about things. We sort of made a decision in one of these and actually voted on something and made some decisions about things in another.

Hmm...maybe everyone is really making sense all the time and it's just me? Wonder why I never thought of that at work?

In any case, I'm a big advocate of the e-mail meeting where everyone just responds to an e-mail chain, copying everyone. Typing doesn't eliminate drivel but it does record it. And it usually keeps people from making an aside like the one above that might insult someone. (Although we have all seen the insulation of e-mail cause an escalation in vitrol.) There is no doubt that meetings are a huge drain on productivity and should be kept to a minimum. As long as you can get the folks to do the work and consider the problem without locking them in a room for a hour or two. And, hey, there was food at both meetings although I had to order lunch on my tab at the club. Food always improved attendance, I found, when I worked.

misplaced anger

AUSTIN, Texas, May 18, 2004 — Ever been angry and not been able to figure out why? There is usually a catylst. Someone insults you or tries to take advantage of you. Or maybe they just say something patently stupid. To you, anyway.

Normally, you just let it slide. The person is someone who you don't think much of yourself. On any other day, you would just give them a look maybe that said, "You are insignificant in my world view so I don't care what you are saying." But maybe today they touch you while insulting you. Maybe they jerk on your clothes or jewelry while telling you that it isn't correctly made or tailored. Maybe they punch you in the back and tell you that if only you took their pilates class you would "stand up straight."

I think the touching can set people off. But what makes people dish out anything but compliments anyway? I mean, in a social situation, I say "Nice to see you?" "How have you been?" "Where are you travelling next?" "What a beautiful outfit?" If I think you have an ill-fitting jacket on or bad posture, it isn't my place to mention it.

And speaking of "where are you travelling next" if you ask me about my trip then you should listen to the answer without having to one-up me about all the trips you made to any place within a thousand miles. Conversations are give and take.

Now, when anything like this makes me angry or makes FFP angry, I know it's silly. But please remember not to touch while insulting people. I think that really sets them off. Touching is for affection and compliments.

false sense of leisure

AUSTIN, Texas, May 17, 2004 —Sometimes just finishing a social engagement and having a 'free' afternoon gives one a false sense of leisure. That's what happened today.

I had to go to water aerobics. Well, I didn't have to but my dad enjoys it when I go. Then, immediately after showering up, I had to play tennis. Well, I didn't have to do it, but I'd agreed to play in this singles ladder and I needed to play this one person the same week that I was leaving town this summer so I'd scheduled it early. Which turned out to be kind of funny since after we split sets she retired and dropped out of the ladder with a severe tennis elbow problem. Not funny for her, of course, but I was struggling with my own elbow pain.

But after that I didn't have any 'have to' engagements so I took the opportunity to goof off with my friends.

Even though, really, I should have used the time to take care of things I needed to do for getting ready for visitors and trips and stuff.

A false sense of leisure? We are too driven, aren't we?

ailments

AUSTIN, Texas, May 16, 2004 —Our lives have one arc ...from birth to death. The death comes from an accumulation of wear and tear and insults from accident and disease. In between, we have our ailments, are our ailments. But it is also a matter of how we react to them.

No one can change the fact that there heart and lungs (and feet and skin) have lived so many years. But there are ways we can wear our ailments. Reactions we can have (and not have) to them.

I'm very, very healthy. Yet, to be honest here I have to admit to tennis elbow, to occasional digestive distress, to a shooting pain in my hip, leg and back. I have to admit that I have to scurry to the toilet more than when I was younger.

But I always think it will go away. Things will improve, not the other way. I'll (fill in the blank) — lose weight, eat better, exercise more, rest a bit — and then the ailment will disappear. As soon as something is amiss, I look forward to it being better.

I wonder how I will react when something goes wrong that can't be ignored, rehabed or treated. Something I really have to live with. Of course, my advancing age is something I have to embrace. But that's abstract. While it means that I probably won't learn to ski or sky dive or run a marathon, I've never done those things. I want to believe that I can do the things I've been doing (walking, tennis, exercise, independent living) without enduring pain or setbacks. I know rationally that I may not be able to do that. But what has being rational got to do with it?

We are our ailments...and how we react to them. I think I've accepted the initial limitations of who I am. But within that context I'm not really willing to give quarter. Not yet. I'll always believe I'll feel better tomorrow. Although I may use my tennis elbow as an excuse not to chop bamboo.

fame

AUSTIN, Texas, May 15, 2004 —I enjoy ordinary people as much as the famous. Fame is sort of lost on me. It doesn't mean the famous can't interest me. They can. It just may be a 'beyond the headlines' thing.

Of course, my first problem with the famous is figuring out who they are. I don't recognize them. My Sandra Bullock story is all you need to know about this.

But, truthfully, I like people to be interesing in the here and now. I don't care if they appeared on TV, on the stage, in the movies, in the headlines.

FFP has to recruit the locally and nationally famous to help promote Ballet Austin's The Nutrcracker performances every December. These folks climb aboard the Mother Ginger apparatus and perform in the ballet for one scene.

Today we met someone who is being recruited to do it. I guess I would call her a second tier actress. Very recognizable in her day because of a unique look. In some big-time TV and movies. You might not recognize her now. She's changed, people forget. She seemed nice. But I didn't care that she'd been in TV and movies. And I didn't get to know her because she was an hour and a half late for the lunch.

We saw Jason Graae perform tonight. I bet people sometimes think they should know him. He appeared in a bit part in Six Feet Under and he's been in Broadway shows plus he has that 'you should know me' look about him. He's a nice guy, though, and the same funny "self-deprecating mit a little ego" guy while having the martini after the show. During the show he kidded about the venues he's performed in. He mentioned Scottish Rite Theater. He mentioned the crowded stage where he found himself. Then he thought about it and decided his smallest venue had been someone's living room. Looking at me down front he said, "Your living room?"

I don't mind when people recognize me except when I don't recognize them. Which happens too often these days. Thank God (or whoever) I never got famous!

the karma of favors

AUSTIN, Texas, May 14, 2004 —When you do something nice for someone, you better not be looking for a tit for tat exchange. Some of us try to just be 'selfless.' That's not me. I do things for people to make life smoother for them and hope some of that rolls around to me. I'm not sure if it works but I think that's why I have the urge to (fill in the blank): help people find work, make them food, give them rides, set up WEB sites, help them install software or make it or the computers work. I think the hope that things will work out for me is what fuels my efforts to hook other people up with the right (fill in the blank): book, person, information, restaurant, hotel.

What goes around comes around? Oh, maybe. But I think that's where the urge comes from.

there really is a lot of time

AUSTIN, Texas, May 13, 2004 —I've spent a fair amount of time complaining that there isn't time for everything. The last couple of days, though, I've realized that while it's true that you can't do all the projects and tasks you think about, there is a lot of time to do stuff. I don't know why my attitude about this time thing has improved even as trips and guests loom and I'm a little nervous about getting stuff done.

I guess I just realized, though, that I have time to take my dad to lunch, on an excursion to Half Price Books and to see a doctor. I have time to actually finish books, to read the newspapers on the day the arrive (well, usually I've done this recently). I have time to watch DVDs and TV, to spend six or seven hours a week at the club. I have time to pour over maps, agonize over what to pack for my trip. I have time to fiddle with WEB pages for people, to surf the WEB a bit. I have time to make snacks for my dad's activity day at church. I have time to agree to help a friend install some software and learn how to use it. I have time to alert people to interesting things I read. I have time to go hear music and see performances. And, of course, I have time for this pile of trivia I'm accumulating on the WEB.

Today it struck me that I had time to wander through BookStop and Half Price Books and to go to Central Market when there were legal parking places and no waiting at the checkout.

Sure, the undone things of life are piling up. Some things undone just won't matter in the end and some things never did. But I hope I'll finish my life having lived and lived to tell about it.

you can't do two things at once

AUSTIN, Texas, May 12, 2004 —It really is impossible to multi-task. Oh, you may read and keep an eye on TV at intervals. You may work on the journal and take interrupts to read mail. But really you have to sort of concentrate to get things done. And, long before ADD was invented, I found that it is not in my nature to concentrate.

I have the best luck focusing and completing things when I put myself in a position where distractions are held back somewhat artificially. In the gym, I ride the bike until the time is up that I've set. Even though four televisions loom straight ahead (usually on four channels) above a picture window on the lake, I usually concentrate on my book. The TVs are silent. If someone comes up to talk or starts an interesting conversaion nearby, then I'll get distracted. But usually I read (and ride) steadily.

Naturally if I go out to play tennis or do water aerobics, I will do the thing although my mind sometimes wanders.

Yes, setting a time limit helps. "I'll work on this for thirty minutes." I don't always make it but sometimes I get a bit of concentrated effort. I will also sometimes work until I finish some bit. That's why a huge project (a screenplay) doesn't get done but I can finish reading a book or writing one set of daily WEB writing.

When I eat, I read. I really concentrate on the reading because I figure I'm already multi-tasking by eating! This is probably bad but I always do it.

As I type this sentence, I'm thinking of ten things I should be doing and as many reasons why I'm not.

I distract myself, I really do. When I'm doing chores, I will say to myself...just get these clothes folded (or dishes washed or whatever) and hmmm...let's time it and see how long it takes. Maybe we should turn on the TV or some music while we are doing it...

Concentration isn't my forte. But, eventually, I get a lot done. Really. In fits and starts. Without seeming to ever really concentrate any effort. What works best seems to be just to do the things when I feel like doing them. This doesn't always please other people, of course.

the packing dream

AUSTIN, Texas, May 11, 2004 —I have it a lot, actually. You are traveling or getting ready to travel and you have to get everything packed and get dressed and get your tickets and get to the airport or whatever. There is even this remote airport that sometimes pops up in my dreams. You just can't locate everything and get everything going and you know you are going to be late.

I had that dream in spades last night. Usually I'm only packing for me. Just my stuff although in the dreams it may be weird stuff indeed. In last night's dream it was more normal stuff. Underwear, hiking boots. Only I was trying to pack for FFP, too. I had the usual dilemma. Time for the flight kept creeping closer. I couldn't find my shoes, I couldn't get everything in. Where were the tickets?

Several times I woke up and tried to bask in that 'it was just a dream and, in reality, this isn't happening!' moment. It didn't work. Instead I started fretting about the reality of packing for the two of us for our trip this summer. In the end, it will be fine, I know. But fretting seems inevitable. In reality, I have a list and I'll be getting stuff together quite a bit before we go. I'll be calmly checking the list and checking again. I'll be planning where to pack things and keeping them neatly in internal containers. (In the dream I was tossing stuff in bags in clumps.) I'll write down or make myself remember where as well as what I pack. I will check off every little thing from socks to toothpaste. I'll worry more about the things that are difficult to replace (passports, eye glasses) than the things like floss and hair gel and toothpaste and even some clothes which can be purchased. In Europe I like to have something to buy just to visit the museum of modern culture (as SuRu calls the shops). But having FFP along is an extra worry for sure. If only because he isn't manning the home front.

Meanwhile, the packing dream wasn't that pleasant. I'm almost rather have the 'car wreck dream' or the 'can't find my clothes' dream or the 'can't find a toilet that is working' dream.

small victories

AUSTIN, Texas, May 10, 2004 —You have to accept the smallest victories in life. Because these little things add up. It's like a kid growing up. You don't see it, day in, day out. Then one day the kid is a man or woman. Independent. Educated. Opinionated. Totally transformed. This is so obvious and physical. Of course, then the adult becomes the old fart. Again, slow and subtle and then boom...demented and bent over.

But the changes we make in how we live are small little victories, too. Only these count. You can try to lose thirty pounds before bikini season or learn Java in a weekend but the truth is that the things that stick are slow and subtle. You learn how to get yourself to the gym each day. You up the resistance a tiny bit, fight the fatigue, do ten more situps or one more rep with the dumbbell. You add these little 'half again' weights to some machine setup. You improve your form a tiny bit. Stretch out a millimeter more. Your fat slowly melts and under it you feel, can it be?, a muscle. A muscle you thought was missing from your body.

We learn things slowly. One French word at a time, one difficult word order or idiom thing. Finally after looking at all these different maps and looking again we get it that the arrondisements in Paris are in a spiral and spin out into the suburbs. Slowly we learn to hate or to tolerate.

Quick fixes don't really work. If we want to write or make movies, learn French or geography, we have to look at these things from different angles, and finally let it seep into our brain muscles in the places where things get transformed. One more rep, a little tougher problem, a little more practice.

My patience for this process seems to be growing. Sometimes I'm anxious. I just must accomplish it all and now. But usually I can remind myself. Do this one small thing. Over and over. And results will come.

motherless

AUSTIN, Texas, May 9, 2004 —I don't remember how I felt last year. On Mother's Day with no mother. I glance at last year's journal to see. Last year I was really still adjusting to her being gone. Only a year before we hadn't even realized what was wrong with her, what would kill her. Last year I said, "In my mind, she is healing, hurtling back in time. The old confused woman is fading and I think about her when she was young and vigorous. Driving me places, helping me give parties for my friends when I was a teenager. Then she's even younger. Making butter at a table in the basement while I sit on the steps and watch. " This has happened more and more. The ignominious end fades, the good things are enhanced.

But being motherless is not all about thinking about the absent mother, the past. It is the loosening that one feels when one's parent is gone. The hold that the past has on you losing its grip. I still have my dad and a bunch of aunts and an older sister and they hold me to the past. But my mother is no longer present to do that. I long ago felt independent of my mother. In fact I felt responsible for her. So being motherless at my age had none of the attendant fear of exposure to harm that young folks would have. No, for me being motherless is one more severed connection to the past. Imagine how people feel when they live to be 100...outliving parents, spouses, siblings and even children? They must feel free-floating from the past rather than mired in it.

I hope to live to be 100. Maybe I won't. But I will die motherless for sure. One person won't have to grieve for me.

Lovely Sleep

AUSTIN, Texas, May 8, 2004 —

Sometimes it's nice to not get enough sleep so that when you get around to sleeping again it is a lovely soft place.

That's how I felt tonight. I hadn't slept quite enough. I kept seeing, all afternoon and evening, that sleep wanted me and I wanted it. It felt good.

When I actually got in bed, I didn't lay awake. I snuggled down, I closed my eyes and I dreamt. The night before, even going to bed at two A.M., I had to lie there, awake, looking at the clock, for a while. I was tired but I had gotten plenty of sleep the night before and it didn't seem to want to catch me. Tonight was different. It's almost like you need to not get enough sleep to embrace it and consume the goodness of a good sleep.

Friendship

AUSTIN, Texas, May 7, 2004 —

When you get together with someone you hung out with over forty years ago and feel like you are old friends, it really makes you wonder. What is the thing that makes some people a friend for a short time and then never again? What makes some people only acquaintances, people you'd never think of inviting out or, if they live far away, inviting to visit?

There has to be a certain overlay of interests, I think. A common religion or political stance, an interest in some hobby or travel destination, an ability to laugh at the same jokes.

You have to feel when you are with this person that the overlapped pieces of your world views are enhanced while the foreign parts, the parts where you differ are doors opening to other worlds.

You want a friend that doesn't drink, consume caffeine or eat meat to make you (a steady drinker and coffee addict who eats organ meats) understand more about being absent those substances. You want a friend who married in high school, has been married twice, and has a bunch of kids and grandkids to make you understand what that means. You want a friend who likes jewelry to make you understand bijoux.

But you need some shared thing...an awe at things French, the shops in Paris, La Tour Eiffel or the language itself. You need an appreciation for a laugh. An overlap to hang your understanding on.

Man's Inhumanity

AUSTIN, Texas, May 6, 2004 —

There is lots of outcry about the inhumane treatment of prisoners in the conflict in Iraq. Frankly, I'm a little puzzled by this. Not because it is not inhumane. Not because people should not be punished. Because it is and they should be. But I do not see why people, and young people especially, believe that this is historic, surprising or curable.

"All we are saying," we chanted, "Is give peace a chance!" Didn't happen. John Kerry testified in a Senate investigation in 1971. According to a WEB site that purports to reprint the Congressional record (facts are so slippery that I'm going to tread carefully), John said:

Imagine. Lt. Calley was prosecuted for shooting babies at My Lai but John as much as admitted that he was involved in such things and he will be your next president unless you'd prefer W.

Yep, I'm a cynic. Bind prisoners and toss them around? Humiliate them? Happens in every war. And man is always at war. I've been studying WWII again. I have a small specialty reading about German prisoners. A lot of them were treated remarkably well. But some were summarily shot surrending and some were doubtless tortured and humiliated. Of course, they were fighting for a man and a country that was systematically destroying groups of people: Jews, the disabled, Gypsies, homosexuals and abstract artists.

Personally, I believe you achieve justice only by treating the guilty with dignity and justice. But you have to realize that in conflict there is always torture, humiliation and unjust and summary punishment. Sometimes, there is the goal of getting a confession or information. We are torturing people in Cuba now in the hopes that they can tell us where the next terror attack will be or where to find that ellusive Osama Bin Laden. Their assigned army lawyers despair of getting justice for them. Sometimes, the victor, the guard, the dominant person just warms to the task of being powerful. I'm not condoning this. But it just keeps happening. It is not the exception.

I'm not condoning any of this. I just don't know where to turn my outrage. In the late sixties and early seventies, we thought we could change things. We directed outrage in all directions. At returning soliders. I'm saying we here in speaking for a generation. Of course, some of us didn't. But a lot of us did actively express outrage. I sometimes wish I had done more...except those that did the most, seemingly, accomplished very, very little. Some of our generation started blowing things up just like the Al Queda and Timothy McVeigh. I think that was wrong. But it was outrage at the way things were and have always been that started it. It was a desire for peace and harmony and fairness that ignited it.

Will voting for John Kerry solve things? Is he ashamed of his statements in 1971? If so, why?

When we invaded Afghanistan I cheered for a moment. Surely the women who were denied everything could maybe do a little better. For women around the world are abused by religions that we actually try to understand and protect. Women are murdered as a form of divorce. Young girls have their sexual organs carved on. The Japanese used hundreds of thousands of Koreans as sexual toys for their troops in WWII. Man's inhumanity to women is legendary. There are strains Christianity enslaving women in these United States.

God bless America? Should He? Well, I'm a doubter. About the being or the blessing. I don't doubt history though. And history shows me that I'm not powerful enough to change history. Things may get better but one certainly wouldn't predict it based on the past. WWII seemed to be a triumph over hate, but was it? We still have lots of it. A startling amount of it springs from religions, too.

Rules

AUSTIN, Texas, May 5, 2004 —

We live our lives with a lot of unspoken rules. Some are silly and some are essential. Some we just follow to get along.

FFP and I just assume that we will do certain things around the house. Let the dog out whenever we think of it. Pick up and clean up after ourselves...dishes to the sink, wipe table and counter, wash pans or at least leave them to soak, put away dishes when they are clean. We expect the other person to start the laundry when the basket is groaning. We place clothes for the dry cleaner in a certain spot. We empty the trash cans and do whatever coffee machine filling and cleaning the lights announce need doing. (Bless the Capresso. "Clean me," it says. Or 'I need water.' Or 'Empty the grounds.') We discuss all social and business appointments and I place them on our calendar.

One sort of silly rule that I made seems to keep the peace about newspapers but does sometimes contribute to my delay in getting them read. I will not remove them from the kitchen until the date of issue is over. Sometimes I make an exception to take one or two sections to my office. I return them to the kitchen, however, instead of recycling when finished. I give FFP the date of issue to read them. This seems to be satisfactory. He sometimes brings a section to my office to point something out, takes a section to his office and I never see it again or takes a section to the bathroom where I let it stay until I've read it and the date has passed. I usually don't miss the sections that go AWOL. Sometimes FFP clips but I usually don't miss the pieces. I only clip after issue day. Late at night, when we've settled into the bedroom, I figure the day is virtually over and I can take the papers to bed with me.

Rules are good sometimes. No matter how silly.

For those of you who expect the essay section to weigh in on subjects of import...stay tuned. I think I'm ready to write about war atrocities. Maybe tomorrow. I thought John Kerry's "The New Soldier" would make a good source document for the atrocities of the Viet Nam era. But have you checked out what that book is going for on ebay? Most of the information is available on the WEB.

Picking Your Battles

AUSTIN, Texas, May 4, 2004 —

Things often reach the point in my life when I want to do things in a certain way but am satisfied just to 'get by.' I have a streak of this desire to have everything in order, properly labeled, neatly folded, dust-free. But then people are going to visit or we are going away and, well, it's just OK to get it done. Get everything thrown into a closet or a bag. Arbitrarily make a decision and just go from there.

I have a folder in my files (somewhere...my files are a problem) and it is neatly labeled 'ultimate space.' I have collected a few things there that would be great if I could have them in a completely redefined and redecorated living space. One thing involved in having the ultimate space, though, is throwing out everything that doesn't fit in. That's a tough sell. Because it is so much fun to clean out a drawer and reorganize it and find a little orange super ball that you enjoy bouncing for a few minutes. There is also something sort of entertaining about keeping books and magazines until they are so old that their age adds to their entertainment value. I just bought a new Michelin Green Guide to Paris. But there is something sort of entertaining about this old, early eighties one, half as thick with no advise as to hotels or restaurants. True, it will direct you to the Jeu de Paume for impressionists. The arrangement of the Louvre is totally different and there is no I.M. Pei pyramid. But this is neat to look back, however impractical the guide is for actually going to Paris.

Yep, in the ultimate space there is less serenpidity. You must plan for perserving the old and displaying it and this is so difficult.

Just as I never find the ultimate suitcase or travel clothes, I'll never arrive at the ultimate space. Maybe I get a little closer. Maybe not, though. Maybe I just evolve from one mess to another, getting by. And it's really OK.

Time Flies

AUSTIN, Texas, May 3, 2004 —

The paper is running a series on Michael Dell and his now twenty-year-old company, Dell Computers. (Once it was PCs Limited. It may be Dell, Inc. or something now. Ho hum.) They say he started the company on May 3, 1984. I think we actually did some work for him before that. But he ran a full page ad that also quotes this date. I think he was just reselling IBM PCs at that moment, too. Not sure. Time erases things. People hope so anyway. Mr. Dell says he had $1000 in financing. Had I known that we might not have given him credit for almost that much in advertising.

In a way twenty years ago seems a very, very long time. We had a computer then but it was a CP/M Vector Graphic. It had a Daisy Wheel printer as big as a house. We didn't have a PC yet. We hadn't done any major remodeling on the house yet either. That wouldn't begin for ten years. FFP used what is now my office as his. The guest room had been taken over with my desk and the computer.

Michael's situation has changed a lot. He lived in a condo just off campus then and now he lives in some secluded fortress of a house. Someone says it has a running track and that there are sprinklers at intervals to spritz one with water to cool one off in the Texas heat. I don't know. He hasn't invited me over. We, however, are still in the same house although it's changed some. Well, maybe a lot. In 1984, I was still five years from going to the company where I would finish my career with over thirteen years of work. When we stopped by Michael's condo that night in 1984 we met his girlfriend, talked about the ads he wanted and left his condo (which was stacked with boxes containing computers) and went out to a Chinese restaurant near campus. We didn't know we'd have to transform our house (adding a studio for a paste-up artist and a darkroom with a format camera because then ads had to be sent in negative or Velox form). We had no idea we would then buy a building to keep up with his business and the couple of employees he dedicated to it. (And be stuck with the building after being unceremoniously dismissed as his advertising, PR and trade show company.) All that was to come. Now we are still in this house although it's pretty different now. And the building belongs to an MD although we are carrying the note.

The summer of 1984 I took my then sixteen-year-old niece (only a few years younger than Michael) on a trip to London, Paris, the Auvergne and, briefly, Switzerland and Germany. She is thirty-six soon and has two little boys.

Time flies and yet some things stay the same. But what are they? Well, the wood floor under my feet for one. Still scarred from FFP running his chair from drawing board to desk as he pounded out ads for PCs Limited. Hasn't been refinished.

The People I Envy

AUSTIN, Texas, May 2, 2004 —

I suppose some people envy Michael Dell or other wildly successful business people who are very rich. And, sometimes I wish I had a lot of money so that I could be the philanthropist I really want to be.

But the people I really envy are those who are sure they are where they want to be. The ones that may be sitting in a park or on a coffee shop patio on a nice cool sunny day in May. They may be broke but they have just the stack of books and papers around that they need to inspire them and they are logging on to the WEB with the free wireless. Maybe a friend shows up who will loan them the price of a latte. They are where they want to be. Things are working out for the writing they are doing on their laptop...whether it's an e-mail or an exalted essay. I envy them their confidence in things.

Sometimes I envy people who know what they are and are not interested in and wouldn't hesitate about what is going to fill today or tomorrow. Never wavering, ignoring things that are unimportant in their world view, and going for what they really want.

Sometimes I envy people twenty or thirty years younger than I who have time to waver and still accomplish great things.

The truth is, though, most of the time I think I'm the luckiest person in the world. If I were richer, I could give away more but there would be more responsibility and stress to manage it. If I were younger, I'd be even more incompetent and scared of the world. If I were one of those who is naturally focused, I might miss the serendipitous distractions that make my life worth living. If I were sure I was in the right place, I might not wander to some new and amazing location.

Yeah, envy is a bad thing. You can only be you and you can't escape your personality or circumstance. Best to consider all the reasons you are glad you are you.

Weird is Never the Problem

AUSTIN, Texas, May 1, 2004 —

There are bumper stickers and T-Shirts around town that plead, "Keep Austin Weird." I heard from a California friend that such are seen in Santa Cruz and that the 'campaign' was said to originate in Berkeley.

It just isn't a problem here. I don't think. Any outing in Central Austin will yield a gaggle of people doing the inspired, the unexpected and the, well, weird while donning the most outrageous body adornment and weird clothing. And that's not just when the legislature is in town.

It isn't just in east Austin either. But the east side of town which used to house a mostly conformist and frankly sort of conservative impecunious group of mostly Hispanic folks who welcomed Anglos in their restaurants and bars for some authentic Tex Mex is now a hot bed for the artiste. People buy a house or a complex with a shed or garage or garage apartment. They make a place to live and a studio. They make furniture or a fellow artist does. They display each other's work. Out back they may paint or forge or weld or saw. They may get an old warehouse for a group of them and collaborate on pieces that are then repped at high prices by budding artist's reps.

It's bound to change the feel of the taco places. In fact, it may gentrify the neighborhood and send these residents packing. But there is no lack of weird.