AUSTIN, Texas, Apr. 29, 2005 — Just don't feel sorry for yourself. Be happy. Be in the moment.

I do get up early. So that I have a fifty minute ride on the recumbent bike reading the Lawrence Wright article about Saudi Arabia and a few sets of back, ab, weight stuff. And I still manage to publish yesterday's journal, get a shower, get to Dad's and get him to the church at ten o'clock for Senior Fun Day. I take my magazine inside, eat some snacks, kibitz the games (42, UpWords, Chicken Foot). My dad plays Chicken Foot with a bunch of ladies.

There are only three men and they are all in the 42 game. One is losing his grip on the game, I think. He's older than Dad. The chicken foot players are talking about one of the absent men. They say there's a diagnosis of Alzheimer's. They say he'd be 'better off in a nursing home.' I think he was living with a daughter and son-in-law. They don't seem to think he has Alzheimer's. He had no trouble playing Chicken Foot, they assert.

One of the women playing UpWords tells me about her implant to control peripheral neuropathy and how the doc can control it with a little device that sounds suspiciously like a PDA with Blue Tooth.

Two of the 42 players leave to go catch lunch at the retirement home. I get sucked in to play a straight up game of dominoes. I haven't played in years, if ever. I win though and Dad's buddies Lucky and Ed pretend to be upset. I asked if this is the game good old boys play in front of gas stations and such. "That's usually Moon, but sometimes it's just dominoes." Ed asserts.

I get Dad home. I have a woman there cleaning the windows. The handyman has changed the front door hardware but it isn't what I want. His wife (who is there supervising her daughter-in-law who is cleaning the windows) calls and tells him: "I was right. That's not what she wants. Can you come back and fix it?" I tidy up a few things and get Dad's mail from yesterday. I tell him that maybe the workers (the ladies have gone to lunch) will get today's if it comes while they are there. He seems happy with his outing. He says he needs toothpaste and Citrucil but 'not right away.' So I decide to go to Costco, but not shop and go back to his house.

I look at digital cameras and a digital frame on aspecial display but don't buy anything. A guy tries to hawk a new cell phone to me. I get some Ahi Tuna, Salmon, shredded cheese, Laughing Cow, Boursin, toothpaste, Citrucil, granola bars and a giant bag of peppermints that both FFP and Dad like. Boring.

I go home, unpack the groceries, divide the giant half of a salmon into freezer packs. I talk to FFP and the bookkeeper and proofread something for FFP. We have two events, one this afternoon (some kind of preliminary to an event next weekend) and a party (another preliminary, to a Heritage Society home tour next week). We were supposed to go to the opera tonight but we switched to tomorrow night to go to these events. We do too many of these social things. It's hard to know when to stop.

And yet, tonight it works and makes me happy. We find our way by 4:30 to a commissary for Mobile Loaves and Fishes. A Catholic organization that goes out in trucks not unlike those you might have bought a cinnamon roll or taco from at some point in your working life. Out they go to offer sandwiches and socks, sacks of groceries and hot coffee. To the homeless and the less fortunate. They use a high tech system that lets the truck crew know how many people to expect. Whether they might be men, women or children. And whether they might be able to cook in their circumstances (a weekly hotel, perhaps). We've been drawn in to a fundraiser they do. A wine and food thing, next Saturday. Gorge for hunger? Yeah, I might have called something like this something like that once. (That was actually the Restaurant Industry's Share our Strength event.) The event tonight is to plan our roles as official wine snobs and pourers for a VIP portion of the event next weekend. We get a tour of the commissary. It is on this giant piece of prime Westlake land that the Catholics must own. The guy in charge is someone FFP wrote about in his weekly column. Other people gather. We have a bit of wine and cheese and talk about what we'll do.

FFP and I have another event, a preliminary party for the Heritage Society Home Tour next weekend. But we have a bit of time. So we stop off on South Lamar to have a bottle of green tea in a spiritual bookstore. (You know, the kind where the sections are things like 'Personal Growth,' 'Death,' and 'Reincarnation.' An answer for everything.) I also shoot some shop window pictures for the never ending series using a couple of vintage shops in the center. On our way out to the car we see Ann Richards and Bud Shrake headed to Alamo Draft House South. We say 'hello' and then crane our necks back to see what the movies are. "I bet they are seeing the Enron movie," says he. "Yeah, but we beat them to it and saw it in the film festival. And I bet they didn't lose any money. We did." Sez I.

The next event is fun. It is at this wonderful Travis Heights house with a view of downtown that is not to be believed. We've been here before but it's been at least a decade. So the skyline has, of course, changed. The Frost Bank tower for one thing. The owner of the house greets us. I tell her that I know her daughter, a singer, was in town for SXSW but I missed her. "She was so sick. And she had a new boyfriend." I tell her that her daughter's music is mentioned in the book Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem. "That's sweet," she says.

There is some good food and we get a few bites before getting away from the table and not getting back. Several of the servers know us. One is an actor who performed at some salons we were part of. One says he had a job cooking hamburgers at a party and then we remember the party. There is a quiet jazz group of guitar, keyboard and drums. Young kids. They are performing on the roof patio. With the great view. We listen to them, talk to people, talk about the house (built in 1934 in a San Antonio style on nine lots...supposedly the people first saw the lot on horseback). At one point we walk down a path out back to the neighboring street.

Finally the time seems right to leave and we go home. I tune in Third Watch on the DVR but FFP doesn't want to watch it. We go to bed.