Phillip and I did our Saturday afternoon on the library computers thing today. I had originally reserved a computer at the Central library, figuring I'd hang around downtown until the car was ready. But the car was ready two hours early, so I switched my reservation to Capitol Hill.

While I was at the library, I checked to see if the video I'd put on hold had come in. It had. I've heard a lot of good things about La Double Vie de Véronique (The Double Life of Véronique), but had never seen it. I'd checked with the library in the past, but all they had was the VHS, but I wanted to see it on DVD. Then, recently, I learned that, despite the complaints of its many fans, this film has never been released on DVD. So, I put the VHS on hold.

La Double Vie de Véronique was directed by Krzysztof Kieslowski, before he did the "Three Colors" trilogy. The librarian was very pleased that I was checking this film out - he's a fan of it, and all of Kieslowski's works.

I love this film! After one viewing, I'm ready to call it a masterpiece. So, what is La Double Vie de Véronique about? I'm not exactly sure, and that's why I'm loving it. The film explores the question "Do we have a double somewhere in the world?" and it expands that question in as many directions as seems possible. What if we come very close to meeting our double, but don't realize it until it's too late? What if we go through our life feeling like something is missing? What if our double suddenly dies? What if, right when our double dies, that feeling of missing something is replaced by sadness? This film plays like a puzzle, demanding another viewing. It has the feeling of a well crafted, gentle ghost story (or, maybe it is a ghost story).

It was also interesting to me to see many of the themes in La Double Vie de Véronique that Kieslowski would later explore in the "Three Colors" trilogy, especially in Rogue (which also starred Irène Jacob): crossed lives, reflections and refractions of glass, France & Poland, and the stooped person.

I just got a call from Toyota of Seattle. The Prius will be ready two hours earlier than estimated (reason given: There were some no-shows this morning.) and the repairs will cost about half of what was estimated (reason given: The parts guy must have looked up the wrong cost, and it went on a lot quicker than they thought.)

Life is good.

I dropped the Prius off at Toyota of Seattle this morning to get that oil pan replaced. This afternoon, I'll be writing a check for a few hundred dollars. I'm not thrilled about that last part, but I know that if I don't get it replaced, and it gives out completely, it'll cost a whole lot more. (I haven't bought a latte in the past two weeks, and I've decided against buying those yoga pants I've been looking at.)

When I walked back from the service department to the bus stop on Pine, I decided to take a detour up 9th, because I wanted to take a look at The Washington Talking Book & Braille Library - a building I've never seen up close in all my years in this town. I discovered the parking garage for Seattle Public Library's Bookmobiles. I walked past a dive of an apartment building where I once looked at an advertised apartment and discovered that monthly parking would have cost nearly as much as monthly rent. (This is on the outer edge of Downtown.)

I walked past several Metro busses on layover - all of them diesel/electric hybrids. King County, I remembered, has the largest fleet of hybrids busses in the United States. That made me happy. Last Saturday, on my trip to the library, I was pretty sure I rode on a hybrid bus, but I wasn't sure. This morning confirmed that it was. I caught a hybrid 7 on Pine Street back home.

It was a nice morning walk.

Do marsupials meditate?

What is Gladden doing when he sits on the roof of his house, motionless, facing the blank white wall? Is he thinking about something? Is he overcome with depression? (Given Gladden's angst-driven personality, that worries me.) Is he sleeping? (Even for our indoor sugar gliders, sleeping out in the open is uncharacteristic for a sugar glider.)

The theme of this seven-week yoga session is "pushing boundaries." That should be interesting. I made it through class alright, despite being on the recovery from whatever that illness was. I took plenty of breaks, and didn't push my boundaries too much. Poor Jason wasn't so lucky. He sounded like he was in the middle of the same illness (it's been going around), with a lot worse cough. He had to leave early on in the class.

The Vasisthasana (side plank), which used to be unobtainable to me, now comes with ease. I did it several times this evening - once with a side tree variation. Maybe there's hope for that crane pose after all.

I really did not want to call in sick today, but Phillip convinced me that it would be a good idea. (I can't explain why I didn't want to call in sick, and that worries me a bit. Am I unknowingly experiencing some subtle intimidation at work? Or - Is it just that I'm feeling more important at this clinic?) My voice is nearly gone, and I start coughing after a couple of words. That's not a good thing for someone who talks on the phone all day.

I'm not as sleepy or achy as I was two days ago. I slept only until 10 this morning. The fun thing about being sick like this is that I keep waking up from wonderfully wild dreams - it's too bad that most of them are instantly forgotten. There was one dream I remember about a tiger - a gentle, non-threatening tiger. Then I woke up, and the tiger was still there for a few seconds. Then it faded away. Now, the question: Did I really wake up, or was I dreaming that I woke up and saw the bedroom around me, and the tiger at the foot of the bed? Wild stuff.

I don't want to miss yoga class tonight - it's the first class of the new session. If I'm feeling like I am now, I'll go tonight. I may even feel better by this evening. If I decide not to go, maybe I can get to the Saturday morning class after I drop the car off downtown and before I go to the library.

I called in sick today. I woke up this morning feeling very sleepy and achy, with a mild sore throat. I slept almost all day today. During the times that I was awake, I finished reading Don't Know Much About® The Bible. I did a little writing. I added mineral water to, and strained, my first batch of natural aftershave, and, in a leap of faith, started a second batch.

My friends Wayne & Cindy, from church, came up with a terrific idea. They created a purely social group called Centralites At Play. (I know I've written this before, but there's a point I'm getting to.) Every month, a CAP member plans an activity. Last February 5, CAP had its first potluck dinner. Eighteen people showed up. That, to me, seemed like just the right sized group. Phillip and I signed up to plan a mini golf party in July. This month, Liz is planning a bowling party.

The idea of Centralites At Play reminded me of the old King Of The Cats get-togethers.

Phillip woke me up about a half an hour ago. He was very upset. "Pastor Shannon has invited over a hundred people to the bowling party," he explained. I got up and checked my email. Sure enough, there's an eVite® in my inbox. It says Liz is inviting 123 people. I was upset, too. This is not what I wanted CAP to be. The KOTC get-togethers were fun, social groups of around 20 people. I don't want to plan a mini golf party for a hundred people.

But now a cooler head is prevailing. We should talk to Cindy & Wayne. We should let them know how we feel. I don't know how an eVite® works. Maybe 123 is the default setting. Maybe 123 is the number of emails our church has, and they just didn't want to exclude anyone. Maybe we could make it clear that our mini golf party is limited to 20 people.

I'm still achy, and I still have a sore throat.

I got half-way to the bus stop this morning (it's only a four block walk) and realized that I'd forgotten my wallet at home. I debated, for a moment, as to whether I really needed it. I decided that even though I could get by without it, it would be a good idea to have it, just in case. I went back home. I missed the early 60, and caught the 9.

Even if I had decided to catch the 9 this morning, and I had to turn back, and missed it, there's another 60 after it that could get me to work just in time, or a couple of minutes late. I'm never in a rush in the morning.

There was a woman on the 9 this morning who told the driver that she'd almost not got on because the bus wasn't the familiar Metro white color. (Metro began phasing out that color scheme - five years? - longer? - ago.) OK, so maybe she hadn't been in Seattle in the last five years, but what was she thinking? Is someone driving around fake buses, attached to the overhead trolley lines, with signs saying "9 to Rainier Beach"? Is a competing transit company stealing Metro's riders?

The woman was pleasant and conversational about it. She asked the driver how he liked driving the buses with the "new colors." The driver was also pleasant, and professional, about it. He explained that, to him, they all drive the same, no matter what color they are.

I miss the richness of interacting with the public. Somehow, voices on the phone just isn't the same thing - mostly, I suppose, because no one calls the clinic just to chat.

I have been sleepy for days. It's an illness kind of sleepy. I can't wake up.

I should drum more.

I should write more.

I should read more.

I'm worried about Gladden.

Tonight was supposed to be the Welcome & Nurture Committee meeting, but it got cancelled due to a family emergency. I haven't decided if I'm disappointed or not.

This past weekend, we rented a nice pair of films: Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind and Sky Captain And The World Of Tomorrow. It made a good double feature. I'd seen Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind before. It's true what they say: Repeated viewings reveal more details. I liked the second one too, but not quite as much as most reviewers, it seems. The innovative and unique visual style was impressive enough, but without a strong story, the visuals didn't impress me long enough. I actually liked the six-minute short, on which the hour and forty-five minute film was based, better.

A long time ago, back in a previous life, my friend Tonya was very good at making beaded necklaces. She promised to teach me how to do it. It's easy, she told me. Then she found a religion that showed her that jewelry is the work of The Devil. She gave me her favorite necklace. (I still wear it often.) Then, apparently, I was in league with The Devil, too, and our friendship ended. I never got that necklace lesson.

This past Valentine's Day, after the rally at the capitol in Olympia, Pet and Phillip and I stopped into Shipwreck Beads. Phillip surprised me with some metal carrot beads. (It's a thing we have from the time we read The Runaway Bunny, by Margaret Wise Brown, together at our church's Coffee House event.) I decided to make one into a necklace.

Phillip knows how to make necklaces, although it's a skill he hasn't used since I've known him. He offered to give me access to his bead collection, but I wanted to make my first one from the very first step of finding the beads.

I stopped into World Beads, on Broadway, one day last week on my way home from work. I remembered Tonya's advice about designing a necklace: Find one central bead you want to show off (that would be my carrot) and frame it with a minimal number of beads that don't overpower it. I found some beads I liked, but I realized that I didn't know what supplies I needed. So I asked Phillip for help.

This afternoon, we returned to World Beads. We came home and, with Phillip's instruction, I made my first necklace. Tonya was right - it is easy - but it still requires skill, especially tying the string correctly. I don't think I could have figured it out without Phillip's help.

I am very pleased with how my one-carrot necklace turned out.