AUSTIN, Texas, May 24, 2005 — This morning the plan was that I would play tennis and my dad would take himself to the dentist. (It doesn't even require crossing a major road and it isn't many steps to the inside, so it's one of the easier things he can do for himself.) Last night the tennis got canceled. And this morning, around eight, I decided to give Dad a welfare call. I figured 'oh he is just outside' when he didn't answer. But I called the second time and left a message before I realized he was at the dentist. I wasn't really worried. You never are worried when you actually need to be.

I got up at 7:30 this morning and was really kind of lazy. I finished my journal and I also went over the last two months, noting when things happened to my dad. I wrote an e-mail to a friend who e-mailed me over two months ago. I'd replied albeit five days later and then I don't think I heard back. For some reason, I write again. It's funny but e-mailing is a pattern with different people. With this correspondent we e-mail about four times a year and once or twice a year maybe get together in person. That's our pattern.

FFP comes home from the gym around 8:30. He makes the bed. He's bought new flowers for the bathroom. What a sweetie my husband is. Makes me realize how lazy I am. And when plans change (no tennis after all). My dad calls and says 'I was at the dentist.' I know, says I.

So, there you are. Get on with your day. Quit being a lazy bum. I go to the gym. I do a long cardio on the bike but the only other stuff I do is a little ab work and stretching and some leg lift things for improving balance. Only I'm not too balanced. Everyone else in town is complaining about allergies. I guess I have them, too, but the only evidence is a little dizziness when I strain this way or that or get up abruptly. While I was on the bike I read the NYT Book Review from Sunday. I like this quote from a book review of a book by Listening to Prozac author Peter D. Kramer called Against Depression: "Despite the myth, depression isn't creative. It would rather just drool in the dark." I have never been depressed, I don't think. Melancholy, sad, pissed off. But I don't really understand depression. Not the can't get out of bed kind. Not any kind probably. Just like I don't understand what it is like to have a stroke or cancer. Now how did I get off on that?

I have to go to my dad's this afternoon and I have to buy a graduation present and we have a dinner engagement. But what now? I decide to go put another rubbbing of oil (a mixture of lemon oil, mineral oil and beeswax) on some of the teak furniture. FFP has a workman out there, filling in some sod in bare spots. Hard work it is. Solid sodding is so much quicker than my technique of transplanting sprigs from unwanted spots and getting it to run and fill in. The latter is more satisfying, however.

I stay outside for an hour or so. The mosquitoes are now in force and I'm in my shorts and TShirt. So I spray a little Off on my legs and arms in a desultory manner. Desultory is my motto, after all. Deliberate? Never. I get a couple of bites anyway.

FFP comes back from a lunch date and comes outside to see what's happening. I go inside shortly after for a shower. When I am cleaned up, FFP and some other workman are running around fussing over outside lights. This stuff is the reason that we are always saying we could save a lot of money on maintenance by downsizing.

But it's time for me to go to Dad's. I need to put the trash, recycling, yard waste on the curb. It's a challenge enough for him to get his paper or mail. No way he can pilot the garbage can to the curb. I get out there and while I'm looking for trash inside he gets up and starts helping. He doesn't like not to be helpful, he says. I get it out and tell him I think I'll hustle along and get my shopping done. I go to Container Store and get the graduation present. I've tried to get the neighbors to help me pick something but I just get something and get the store's assurance that it can be returned. That'll work.

I go home and make a card and decorate a big sack for the gift. That's done. Cool.

I sit at my computer then, thinking, writing and OK I admit it, watching Ken Jennings on Jeopardy. Although, really, I like the Brad guy better but I'm amazed at how much stuff these people know. They are lobbing some hard questions in this Tournament of Champions. For the record, prior to retirement and actually prior to my DVR acquisition I didn't watch game shows. And what does that have to do with anything? Nada.

FFP and I have asked a couple of friends to go to Mirabelle. He has picked a 1993 Fetzer Cabernet from the cellar. We go there and meet the girls. One has moved house and is telling us all about it. One is a DJ. Both are recently changing relationships. We buy a bottle of champagne, get the wine decanted and taste it (yum). Jason, our waiter, is a jazz musician. We talk about live music around town. We talk about the party the opera is throwing here a week from Saturday. They want to come because it is at our house. They are not the first people to say that. Hmmm. Scary.

We linger over dessert and coffee. I'm pretty full but I still eat some bread pudding although not all the serving. I've had lobster crisps, a small salad and duck with asparagus and a galette of potato. And a glass of champagne and a nice serving of he Cab.

I read some papers when we get home, watch House off the DVR. I offer to let FFP watch American Idol but he's sleepy. I start a Law and Order: SVU but it loses me when the young assistant DA starts suing the Feds. Everyone sleeps.

I am once again pondering the future of the journal. I think I'm going to suspend journal operations, at least in this form, in July. Time for you folks to find something else to read.