This was hard to take partly because it was a backward shot of myself in a mirror and partly because Blake kept trying to yank my earring out of my ear. Taking it out first or removing him was clearing too much for me to think of at the time.

Reading: Antonia Fraser, Faith and Treason

Moving: walked to work.

Listened: up to Henry IV

5 September 2001: Emptying the camera

All hail my Macintosh consultant. I lost nothing but my most recent email, my address book, and my bookmarks.

I emptied the camera preparatory to leaving Saturday. Those two braids. Jessie and I discussed the theory of dual braids (about two sentences into that subject, RDC suddenly found reason to run away up the trail to the manly company of Golden Boy and the Baron), and I love the picture of Shelley on her bike with her two braids to her waist. Mine aren't halfway down my back, and I didn't achieve a center part but did give myself bald spots. Furthermore, I am used to the annoyance of one ponytail annoying me. Two thinner ones better positioned to fall into my face just aren't going to work for me.

Shopping. We had a list. We had goals. I even held Haitch's wallet on the principle that if she didn't have any money, she would therefore find what she wanted.

The first stop was DSW, Designer Shoe Warehouse. When we saw these, we gasped, and I bemoaned my camera's being all the way in the car, 100 feet away. (I'd brought it along to take regular pictures of Haitch later.) So I scurried for it. It's not just the shoes' color, though the color isn't good. It was the texture of the vinyl.

For this photograph to be in focus wouldn't do this shirt any favors. Haitch called it a bubble shirt. It was labeled "one size fits most" so I accordioned it out to its largest size, at which it was transparent (not an effect the largest sizes need) and wouldn't fit many mosts. We saw these things everywhere.

I should point out that we weren't in Shoddier East Tackyville. We were in Park Meadows, which considers itself an upscale shopping mall resort.

Here, we figured that if Haitch couldn't spend the $350 or however much it was on the cute Kate Spade bag, she could at least have the picture.

Haitch was so pleased to find a mannequin her own size (negative 0) and height in Express.

The peculiar thing is that on the left Haitch achieved a better mannequin pose than the actual mannequin did, even down to the vacant stare. Okay, a headless mannequin can't do a vacant stare, but still.

These dusters need better justifcation than I could give them. It's not just that the denim looks filthy, as if Clint Eastwood had already been ridden hard and put up wet. It's the fake fur trim. Ever had, say, a plastic bag of dry-cleaning brush your bare leg on a sweaty day? It felt like that. The duster on the right was even more distasteful.

I think here we achieved the worst possible outfit. The trousers, black with white lettering, spelled out "London Paris Rome." We were considering them for me, because if I get lost I can just point. But I hesitate to wear clothing with lettering on it anymore after an outfit my mother sewed for me early in elementary school. It was thin-waled, dark blue corduroy figured with little puppies, kittens, and birds with their respective utterances: arf! (or woof? or bark? I don't remember), meow!, and peep! HPV spotted that in one spot, where the yoke met the collar, the fabric was seamed in such a way that the second "p" was cut from "peep." In first grade, you don't wear the word "pee" on your clothing.

The shirt represents all the reasons I wish the '70s would just go away. Metallic earth-tone stripes on the bias, in a sleeveless turtleneck.

My grandmother had magnets on her refrigerator that looked like the flower on the left shoe. The tufty pied shag of the right made me huff like a scared cockatiel.

Haitch said I should let her see my suitcase. And let her see that I bought the chained thong from Express? No. Actually I didn't, but I should have photographed it. Haitch wondered at the size of the thong, and I opined that anyone whose tush needed that big a thong shouldn't be wearing a thong, and what's more, shouldn't be wearing a string thong whose strings were box chains. String anything on the squishy just doesn't. Neither does stretch, but that's another rant.

Anyway, so I started to tell her what I had packed and I had uttered about two words when she cut me off, "That's too much." This is the woman who had to weigh her own bag to ensure it was below the weight limit of 70 pounds, mind you. But she learned from the students she chaperoned just how small a bag you should bring.

The only thing I bought for the trip was a purple pen that's not quite what I wanted, too metallic. It served me well when, in Dillard's, I saw a sign that said "Ladies Gloves." I apostrophized the offense (Haitch circled nonchalantly to see what I would never ever presume to do, no no not me) and went on my way.

The rest of this is me thinking out loud. Thinking in purple, that is. Skip it, OMFB. Making out the lists has conveniently reminded me of a few things I forgot:

We have papa, mama, and baby bear-sized wheelies. The big one is, in the best Bridget Jones way, "big beyond all sense." I just packed the little one this afternoon. Also I packed my Performance bike messenger bag and the Nine West purse. I think I've convinced RDC he'll be able to manage with the mama bear one, especially since I already have the guidebooks and the adapters.

I'll wear the charcoal tencel dress, black microfiber slides, glasses (I do not fly in contacts), and the barrette Nisou gave me.

I'm not bringing any other jewelry than that which I live in--wedding rings, other ring, cuff, bangle, amethyst studs, and watch (the latter three I don't sleep in). PLT's mom told me once never to travel with jewelry you care about, and having traveled at that point as far as Boston (well, Florida, but I'm making a point here), I couldn't deny her. Now (having at least been to three continuous corners of my native country), I don't understand wearing jewelry you don't care about. And I probably won't bring the bangle, as I already worry about losing it. Combining my travel neurosis with the everyday bangle-fretting just wouldn't be pretty.

And I have so much space left! There's space to squish and to spare in both, and the messenger bag zips open wider, plus I can carry the purse separately. We've been advised to bring an empty bag with us, and I think RDC's messenger bag can fit in his suitcase (as our spare) yet leave plenty of room for his wardrobe. I'll carry his plane books and CDs in mine.

Tonight I listened to "Shakespeare in Love" with the alternate French language track (and English subtitles). I didn't catch much, only listening. Everyone spoke so fast, partly just faster than I can understand and partly because French takes more time than English to say the exact same thing so the dubbers have to speak fast to keep up with the action. English rocks.

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Recently we were given a small bear with a corporate logo on its little t-shirt. Considering it was a teddy bear, even if the Chihuahua equivalent of one, I was mean to it, but not as mean as RDC. I named it Rufus. I just recorded "Re-Animator" and he watched it while working out one day. After the scene mentioned in "American Beauty," I allowed as how he could double the viewspeed for the remainder of the flick. Naturally he liked the dead cat, particularly the rigor mortis bit, and since Rufus the cat ended up splatted on the wall, how could Rufus the bear end up otherwise?