AUSTIN, Texas, June 23, 2005 — Everything I have planned is something I want to do. Tennis. Late lunch with a friend. Taking a prospect on a tour of the ballet building they are going to renovate for their entire operation. Going to Harry Ransom Center with a couple of friends and grabbing some dinner. Going out to hear a musical group around nine.

I get up at a reasonable hour so I can see a little of the tennis on TV and have some coffee. I do a little writing, call Dad. He's having lunch with a friend of mine and then waiting around for his sister to visit. I hope she stays through tomorrow so I can see her.

So I get off to play tennis. I am subbing in a long-standing game among older women. Older than me even. Their foursomes (one on Tuesdays and one on Thursdays including some but not all the same women) seem to be imploding with some people not happy, some not healthy. We have a good time today. I'm not playing too well, however. Banging balls into the net, poaching when I shouldn't, being in the wrong place at wrong time. Stuff like that. But I'm having fun. And they seem to be having fun. Although it's hot and I'm certainly sweating. We only play two sets. They are longer than usual because the lady I'm subbing for is one of the weaker players. I think I lose on 5-7 and win 6-3 or 6-4. I hit some good shots but not many. I don't double fault. I enjoy these games and try to be easy-going, playing whatever position and with whoever they want. Because it really doesn't matter to me.

When I'm done I head home. I handle a few things, clean up, watch a little Wimbledon and even watch a part of one of the films I'm reviewing to see if it works on the DVD player in another room. It works long enough on that one for me to see what's happening with it.

Forrest is off to lunch with someone else. I have the answering service on while I shower and the prospect calls and cancels the tour of the ballet building at three. I e-mail the people at the ballet with the cancellation.

Lunch. I've scheduled to go downtown for lunch at one. I figure I'll be close by to the appointment I have downtown but that's been canceled. I make my way downtown and find a parking place on West Sixth Street. I'm a little early. I snap some pix of shop windows along the street and then see a couple coming out of Cafe Josie. They will be our housesitters for the trip. I stop and talk to them. It's his 30th birthday. Ah, to be thirty.

I am right on time for the lunch. Only my buddy isn't there. He's always on time. I get a table. There aren't many people there. Slow day? Rush over? I dig through my cell phone's directory and find what I think could be the number.

"Hello," he says.

"Hi, how are you doing?"

"Um, OK."

"Aren't we supposed to have lunch?"

"Oh, yes. Um. I could be there in ten or fifteen minutes."

"That's cool. I'll have something to eat while I wait."

Because it's after one. I haven't eaten all day. I catch my waiter, tell him my companion will be later still and ask for a glass of white wine and an order of lobster cakes. Why don't I have reading or writing materials with me. Makes the wait so much nicer. I clean out my wallet and ponder life and then the wine and food comes and makes waiting easier still. I listen to people talk at other tables.

My buddy arrives and we talk about our trips to New York, plans, charities, people. I order a fish entrée and my buddy orders and we eat and talk and it's after 2:30 when I get out of there. I call FFP to be sure all is well with the next appointment of the day which was cancelled. Then I go home.

I have a couple of hours before my friends come by for the trip down to Harry Ransom. I watch some of the films for AFF and do the paperwork until my first friend shows up. We talk while waiting for my other friend. FFP comes in and talks to us, too. He doesn't want to go to the museum. So the three of us head down to UT, park in Dobie Mall's insane garage and go over to HRC. We pay homage to the Gutenberg and start with the exhibit of maps, globes and travel books. Fascinating what the cartographers did and didn't know and what a rough travel destination Texas was a mere century and a half ago. There is a book by Freya Stark, too, and I have the feeling I've read something by her or about her recently and I think maybe she was one of the women presented in a movie we watched the other night but she isn't. After that we look at these book and calligraphy objects made on the theme of flight. Fascinating art bookmaking, box making and calligraphy. Then we look at a collection of photographs William Broyles assembled and donated to the museum. They are photos from the Eastern Front in WWII. Amazing. All three exhibits were worth the trip down, the parking garage and the price of admission. (Which is free, of course.)

We head out when the guard turns out the lights at seven and go to Milto's. We get some gyros and have a chat. I'm back at my house well before our friend comes by for the evening's entertainment.

The three of head down to Flipnotics about 8:45. We spend quite a time wandering around the neighborhood until we find a parking place right in front. We go up and get some drinks and wait for the group before to finish their performance. The Flipnotics space is tiny with a little stage and maybe twenty-five seats. The group has a girl singer, Amy Atchley playing amplified accoustic, an electric bass, an electric guitar and drums. I have to confess that I understood very little of the lyrics and sometimes my eardrums seemed to vibrate. I listened to teaser clips online that I liked, though, and we enjoyed being out, checking out Flipnotics (first time I went there) and being with friends.

At home, late, we tried to watch the basketball but it ran over its time slot and the DVR didn't get it. I read a few newspapers and, realizing how late it is and the fact that FFP's car needs to go to the dealer for maintenance and inspection the first thing in the morning, I sleep.