November 8, 1999

Journal of a Sabbatical

November 8, 1999

at loose ends

Today's Reading: Born Naked by Farley Mowat

1999 Booklist

I finally got it together to stop procrastinating and book the Antarctica trip. I put down a huge deposit so I can't back out. I feel mildly guilty about spending so much money to do something I just want to do. It's not like I need to see ice and penguins and petrels and prions in the same sense that I need to eat or sleep or have a roof over my head. Anyway, it was time to stop fantasizing about it and do something, so I did.

After studying all my brochures one last time, I picked Victor Emmanuel Nature Tours because their trip caters specifically to birders. The guides are knowledgeable birders. It's reasonable to expect that the passengers who choose a Victor Emmanuel tour pick it because they want to see birds, not simply because they want to be able to say they've been on all seven continents. Meanwhile, I'd better start studying up on my oceanic birds of South America.

I've been scattered and at loose ends all day for no apparent reason. I meant to leave enough time to go look for birds before the Purrfect Companions meeting, but all these nagging little chores cropped up and I barely had enough time in Newburyport before the meeting to buy some coffee at Fowle's 'cause I'm fresh out at home and get some supper.

Actually it took Angelina's so long to make my sandwich that I had to ask them to wrap it to go, and had to eat it impolitely in the meeting. I kept trying to give the Purrfect Companions committee some of my fries. A small order of fries proved way bigger than I expected. I guess I never ordered fries there before.

Martha and I made plans to attend the "business mixer" at the Custom House Maritime Museum next week because it's being sponsored by the department of elder affairs and it's centered around the opening of a photography exhibit about people living long lives in Newburyport - we're talking photos of the old old here, not the young old. The invitation didn't mention who any of the photographers were, so Martha wanted to know if it was too late to get my photo of Mrs. Littlefield holding Squirt into the show. Gee, if I'd known about the show sooner, maybe I could've gotten it in. Or not. Who knows.