February 5. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

Everything comes about in God's time but I'd hide the clock from Him for a few days just now if I could.

She's worsened. Just in the time I've been in San Francisco, I've seen Mattie weaken.

I've got to jet soon, Journey. Red-eye back to Chicago, then a one hour hop at six AM back home. Not much of a way to start a Monday morning all groggy-eyed, but I want to put in a full day and still spend all weekend here.

Trade show went well; I attended a fantastic session on outdoor light and how to use a photometer effectively. Saturday night I finally had chance to enjoy a beer at Maxwell's in the Palace Hotel.

Ecstasy.

Now, I've looked at a half-dozen coffee table books with double-page spreads of the Pied Piper mural. Dakota had a print of it on the wall of our room back in Chapin House. Funny how you can gaze at a painting in an art book for years and then when you actually sit staring at the real thing you realize how wondrously alive the work is; how all the light radiantly rebounds from the media. And off a sudden there is a vibrancy that resonates somewhere inside, somewhere deeper than all the higher brain functions, somewhere along my spine the light touches me and just for a moment I think maybe I get a glimpse of the painting the moment it was finished and just then I'm back then at the Oaks with MP and I so wish I am one of those little post-Victorian New England children dancing happily in front of the Master's camera.

The convention was held at the Hillingham Hotel; not quite the Palace but still and all a good venue. Small show, with just a smattering of vendors exhibiting. I did see a few new swatches of carpet I'm going to order from our local rep when I get back from our local rep. The Hillingham is a solid hotel, but even a small convention taxes it.

I needed to check email Friday, but nobody was manning the business center. It was late afternoon, the morning check-out rush well past and so when I wandered over to the front desk it was quite still. I thought my request to use the business center's PC was pretty basic, but the clerk running the desk didn't know the code to for internet access for the business center PC. It was a simple question, really, but the clerk stood there with eyes half-closed and brow pinched downward, face pointing up toward the ceiling but not really looking there at all; he was back-scanning his memory, trying to pull down the sequence of numbers so I'd be on my merry way.

Failure.

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