Life goes on...

Once the day got started yesterday, things got interesting quickly. My client calls and asks if I can go to Russia one week early, leaving tomorrow. I say yes, and begin to think of all the stuff I have to get done to make that happen. The client says thanks, but to take no action until confirmation comes, promised for about 2-3 hours later.

To augment my wardrobe, I decided to visit a local thrift shop. There turns out to be one at the St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Glen Cove. I stop in. It turns out to be "stuff a bag for a dollar day." I stuff a bag with three paperbacks, a sweater, a shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of Italian wool slacks. I figure that if all the clothes end up not fitting, that three paperbacks for a buck is still a good deal.

All the clothing fits. My position, clothing-wise, vis à vis travel, improves.

* * *I listen to Peter, Paul, and Mary sing Down By The Riverside. I enjoy the harmony, and can empathise with the idea of not "studying war" any more, but am reminded of something attributed to George Orwell, and conclude that "We can declare that we will 'study war no more' only because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."

* * *The call to leave for Russia early suffers a stand-down. I'm back to my original plan of leaving next Thursday. No problem with that. In the aftermath, the client says they appreciate my "can do" attitude. I say "You're welcome."

Little do they suspect that I am of that school of service that answers "How high?" when the client says "Jump!" and "How low?" when they say "Squat!" I can't work any other way.

* * *I took my mother shopping today. I probably aged a year or two, but I remind myself that this is part of life. Details later, maybe, once the kids are asleep.

* * *I stopped by a video/music store to see if they had a DVD of Silk Stockings, as it appears to be one of my parents' favorite films. None was apparent. I asked the brain-dead drone at the checkout about it and was met with an absence of sentience that was horrifying to contemplate. In talking with my mom, she mentioned how she used to work at Scribner's back in the day, and I recall seeing a carbon of a letter she sent out in response to a customer's inquiry.

(That's right. Scribner's used to send letters out to potential customers in response to questions they felt like asking. As far as I know, this was done as a public service -- sort of -- in anticipation of sales. The point: worker bees of the era were expected to exhibit basic levels of intelligence.)

Dinner was excellent. I'm planning to watch some quality TV right now (a tape of something, dontchaknow).

Cheers...