AUSTIN, Texas, Mar. 22, 2005 — The day doesn't seem duty-ridden. The Culligan man is coming. That's it. But things intervene. I work on cleaning the oven. I discuss some investments with Forrest and one of our brokers. I have to wait for the water filter to drain so the gunk can flush from the new hoses and such after the guy rehabs the water filtering system. Ah, yes. Duty, duty. Ha.

In the meantime, I read a few more on the papers and do my journal and answer an e-mail from The Mighty Kymm about some entry I wrote over five years ago. Hmm. Oh, and I write an e-mail to a friend about getting together. And read and deal with some other e-mail.

Yeah, somehow I make my sad little social and domestic life into this big duty thing.

I really would like to know how this gunk got all over the oven. Oh, well. It's not cosmic. So little in our fat and happy lives is.

Go to the gym about noon and have a so-so workout. Actually I rode the recumbent bike for over fitfy minutes but I didn't do anything else except three sets of leg extensions. I read old newspapers.

The day continued to get strange. I finished up scrubbing the oven and decided to try it to see if I'd eliminated the white smoke we got when it was fired up last. At about 225 degrees I was feeling confident. And indeed there was no white smoke. But suddenly, there was black smoke. Something underneath the bottom was on fire. Yes flames licked up and black smoke and a few particles of ash came out and floated down like delicate black snow. I turned it off and it eventually stopped burning. Hmmm. We ventilated the house. I scratched my head. I even looked in my journal to see what we or people who came over might have cooked that would have left enough crap below the bottom pan to burst into flames. In January I cooked a couple of chicken dishes in the oven. I got a little olive oil on the oven bottom as I recall. (And as I actually mentioned.) This stuff was thick and seemed to have sugar in it, lots of sugar. Long-burning carb fuel. Oh, well. FFP couldn't remember this huge cooking spill either. It's conceivable, I suppose, that the house sitters cooked something. But this looked like someone had dumped the sugary contents of a pie in the oven. We called a repairman who took it apart, cleaned the stuff out of the bottom (there was a bunch of stuff down there) and we scrubbed up the mess. (The maid was here by now. She helped.) Our oven is in service again, no fire alarm, no fire either.

It seemed to us that the entire day was all full of interruption and confusion. The guys were here to fertilize the lawn, the maid service was here, the Culligan repairman, the guy to fix the oven. We had a long discussion on the phone with our loquacious bond broker. Sigh.

We decided the cure for this was to get out of the house and go to Billy's over on Burnet and have bad messy food. So we did. The smell of fried (not burned) things inside was nice. I had a Reuben and a beer. FFP had their Garden Burger. We shared one of their incredible fried pies.

At home, it felt quiet and good. We turned on the ceiling fan in the bedroom. We watched an old 1956 movie Written on the Wind, laughing at the hilarious dramatic music and the stereotypes. Lauren Bacall's acting is fine but the thing is so studio compared to the fabulous location shots of Giant. Of course, there is no James Dean in this one either. FFP started dragging out clothes and matching them up. He wanted some pants and jackets touched up so I got out the ironing board and did that. It felt very domestic and calm ironing and watching TV. (As opposed to domestic and harried as the rest of the day had been.) FFP modeled some shirts, ties and jackets. I don't know what inspired this. Especially digging back for suits that had been hanging so long they needed touch-up. "What are you getting dressed up for?" I ask. "The board meeting tomorrow. I thought I'd spiff up."

We watch another movie. Don Juan de Marco. I like it, I must say. Marlon and Johnny are magic together. And all the good clean bodies.

A bit more with the newspapers and TV. I hope tomorrow is less exciting. Much less. But life is good. I get stuck into a movie on TV about a kidnapped kid that is based on a true story. (It's tought to believe especially as presented but it is well-acted.) And then it's late and we must sleep.