AUSTIN, Texas, August 31, 2005 — It's like 9/11 and the tsunami in Asia and everything that doesn't really touch you very directly but is so vast that the effects sneak into your protected world, I feel the effects of the Katrina devastation. I see the dollar fall. (I'm going out of the country in three weeks.) I feel glad that I booked and paid for a hotel room at the Atlanta airport because I worry about hotel shortages lasting for weeks across the south. (Which doesn't mean I won't get bumped, I suppose. A night in the airport anyone? Oh, well, not the worst fate.) Naturally I've been worrying about the airline I booked my frequent flier ticket with. Will fuel costs

push them into bankrupty and will they cancel my flight? We are working on our own finances. I watch stocks like USG (they make wallboard) and MUR (Murphy Oil, 'nuff said) shoot up. But you can't feel good about it. And, of course, things like TGT (Target) and other fuel-dependent stocks like UPS are going down.

Meanwhile, the depth of the water and the depths of devastation is hard to comprehend. I'm lucky. We call the city trying to get the leak in our yard fixed. But it isn't a horrible crisis yet. Well, we don't know that. The pipe is far under ground (several feet I think) and the ground is soggy up top. Imagine how much water is under the drive and perhaps the house. We may have a sink hole before it's all over.

I spend some time today watching T&T: tragedy and tennis. The winds from the remnants of Katrina ruffle Venus Williams' skirt. It's a pretty fierce wind to play tennis in, but, well, what difference does tennis make? Or my trip to Cape Town? Or the price of Rands in Dollars when I get there? And yet one goes on with one's own little life. We are meeting with our CPA about what we euphemistically call 'pre-planning.' (Can you have post-planning? Is that was the government does after hurricanes?) Pre-planning, as in what happens to your money when you die, not what happens to your body. (I suppose post-planning in the funeral construct is when your survivors plan your disposal. Hence the pre- isn't really redundant. Although I suppose we should call it estate planning but that makes it sound like we actually have money.) I spend time today allocating tax basis between one stock and a spin-off stock. My life seems trivial. As any one life is.

I did water aerobics today but decided that my body would take a rest from the other gym activities today. I go home and shower and eat and read the papers while watching T&T TV. I draw up a list of questions for the CPA.

FFP and I go to Costco. Maybe it's my imagination but a lot of people seem to be buying bottled water. We look at Satellite radios and iPods and flat screen TVs. But we buy Ibuprofin, Immodium, salmon, cereal, sliced turkey, Boursin cheese, Laughing Cow cheese, Citrucil, three bottles of wine, eggs, bananas, blank video tapes, a jug of Superfood, Ginkgo supplement, a six pack of pitted olives, toilet paper, Kleenex and detergent. Pretty boring.

We are meeting with the CPA at a restaurant. Makes discussing money more pleasant if you eat and drink. As we head downtown we hear that there are peace demonstrators down there. We call and move our meeting to a restaurant on South Congress near the CPA's office instead of meeting downtown where parking might be difficult. (Our CPA's office, if you must know, is above Uncommon Objects, one of my favorite places to take weird shop pictures for your pleasure.) Vespaio has opened a little sister called Enoteca and the CPA has suggested it. We go by city hall and see demonstrators and a bus with the flag flying upside down inside. All I have to say to the Sheehan lady is that hippies in the sixties invented flag desecration. Forty-five years later I doubt it moves Mr. Bush.

The restaurant is filling up but they still have tables at six twenty-five. We call our CPA and get a table. We have calamari served in a cone like French fries and I have a country salad (salad campangia) with cheese and eggs and such. I drink a couple of glasses of wine and we talk. Our CPA gives us some good advice and answers questions about taxing estates and trusts.

We head home leaving the place buzzing.

When we return, the fifth or sixth city employee has been dispatched to Lake Preece/Ball. (I'm losing track.) He thinks it might be our pipes not the city's. (They all think this initially.) This in spite of the paint rectangle and the work of the leak detection team (employees two and three). We appeal that the water is starting to seep around the slab and under the house. He says he will get someone out to fix it. Much later a gas company employee rings the doorbell and says he is locating the gas line. Nothing else happens, however.

I watch Jenkins put up a valiant fight against Nadal, switching to watery scenes of looting occasionally. I am so glad President Bush flew over the devastation. That's such a help.

I finally go to sleep, accepting the dreams of flooding...in my own front yard.