AUSTIN, Texas, June 6, 2005 — I get a couple of reminders that it is D-Day. A news program on one of the TVs at the club shows footage and animated maps. Things like that. I'm sure there was something in the paper. I didn't get it read. Last year we were immersed in it. What a difference a year makes, huh?

Mostly though I'm on a different planet today than last year.

I try to get an early start on my day, get a lot of things done before the afternoon and evening events. I do get some things done. Not as much as I should.

There is the usual difficulty getting rolling. Seems I get up, have coffee, do my welfare call to Dad and check the schedule with him, do my journal and the morning has slipped away. A rental truck came after stuff but they only took away the chairs, not the table or glasses or tablecloth. We moved the glasses. We fooled around outside, FFP doing some spot watering.

Before I knew it, it was eleven. I went to the gym. I was going to do weights but, instead, I simply rode the bike for an hour (with a slow cool down at the end). I read newspapers. Too much to read. Too little time. Sometimes FFP will be wandering around the house and he will say, "You know, we have some great books." Now, we are retired. We should find time to read them. And to do everything else to...see movies, read the papers, read The New Yorker every week and learn new things.

I get home and have some cereal and yogurt and some salad for breakfast/lunch. I need to lose weight. But I keep eating and drinking like a crazy woman. Stop it! Not today, though.

I get a shower and then actually do some stuff. I make reservations for hotels/motels for our trip later in the summer and study and print out driving directions. Soon enough, though, my dad shows up. He has come from his PT and I will take him to the place to get an ultrasound of his thyroid. He has worn himself out. He says the therapist 'almost made him sweat.' That's the difference thirty years makes. I have to sweat to get worn out. I take him, early, to the place. It seems to take a while. When he comes out, he says the technician had to look at the CT scan of the goiter to figure out how to do the ultrasound. What are all these tests going to prove? What therapy or drug or whatever might they recommend. I guess we will find out in time. I take him back to myself and he says he is going to 'take Burnet Road and go home.'

I do a few more things. Make reservations for some upcoming social outings. (That's what I can make for dinner...reservations.)

FFP and I head downtown. Our friend Jenny Roan is taking some folks around town in her pink limo for a demo ride. We are meeting at the Four Seasons. We are pathologically punctual, of course. We leave our car with the valet. Various hotel people come by and say hello. It has been a long time since we've spent much time here but people still seem to know us. The GM walks by, stops at the chandelier, looks up and goes over to the bellman and tells him one light on it is out. When we return later in the evening, it will be fixed. That's what really fine hotels are all about. Details.

The other guests show up and then the limo. We set out. It's hard to tell where we are going, looking out the windows on the side, not having a front view. The privacy panel is up and contains a flat screen TV. There are flowers and chocolates and pink champagne. I have one chocolate but no drink. We aren't going far for the first leg. We go in the back of the Austin Museum of Art. It has been arranged for us to get a private view of the current show. Charles Mary Kubricht has these large scale abstracts on Grand Canyon made on many (49) small panels with hard-edged brush strokes. She painted from digital pictures made in different lights. Fascinating. There are Annie Lebowitz photographs of musicians. Some really fascinating portraits.

After a look or two around, we go out and climb back into the limo and head to Cedar Street. Several people we know are there and they catch the image of the ride we are in at the opening of the courtyard. We sit around and drink and listen to the great jazz arrangements played by the Kevin Ahart Band. Soon, though, the limo reappears and we head to the South Congress Cafe. It is loud, but we have some good food and wine.

We are running a little behind our schedule when we leave. Off to Saxon Pub, we go in and fight the crowd a bit, settling on sitting in the back where we can hear but not see Bob Schneider. We talk, drink some drinks and water, people we know or one of our party knows ebb and flow. Contacts are made, things are discussed.

But Monday parties need to end. So the limo takes us back to The Four Seasons. A few of us stay on for a nightcap and late night snacks. It's been a selection of Austin evening. Nice.

At home we watch a recording of Six Feet Under. And I wonder why I can't get up in the morning. It's late, late, late when I sleep.