Pullman's The Golden Compass is also good, but it's nothing like The Goblet of Fire. I can't think of what it reminds me of, which probably means it's unique. A touch of Elizabeth Moon, a little Icelandic Saga, a dash of Brothers Grimm, and an unfortunate Anne McCaffrey overtone with the Dust that falls from the sky. I'm not sure I'll buy the second book, but it is entertaining enough to keep me turning the pages.

Dixie has developed a stubborn streak (did I say developed? I meant renewed), and has started balking at taking a normal walk. She wants to do her business and go right back. Some nights she doesn't even want to cross the street. We've been having arguments, which I win, but I have to force her to keep going all the way through a combination of cajoling, encouragement, and vocal threats. It's baffling and not a little annoying, because she needs the exercise. She always leaves the yard willingly enough. I think she misses her old neighborhood. Or maybe it's just one of the behavorial changes we were warned about. Either way, I'm feeling like That Mean Lady Who Makes Poor Dogs Walk A Whole Two Blocks.

I bought flowers tonight. No reason, just couldn't resist the deep burgundy chrysanthemums. I think chrysanthemums are my favorite flower. No, can that be true? I dearly love iris and sunflowers, too. Still, there's something so beautiful about the compact form of a mum, and they come in such a nice variety of color. And lord knows very little is blooming out in my garden; I might as well have some color inside the house. Not that I'm bitter, nooooo.

Launched a gigantic family reunion off to Las Vegas today. Whew. I've been coordinating that since May. That's it for big groups. All I have left on my plate at work are couples. Piece o' cake, couples. Well, except for the two who started out going to Venice, Mykonos, and Istanbul, then called halfway through their trip wanting to add a visit to Jamaica. I was proud of myself for pulling that together with no notice. Being a travel agent is always challenging.

I really thought by now I'd see more agencies crashing to the ground, but it's quite the opposite. We're so busy we had to hire another agent last month, and I haven't heard of any of the small agencies I know going out of business. The airlines have squeezed us ruthlessly, and I'm sure they'll be reducing our commission again any day now, but meanwhile the planes and trains and hotels are as full as can be. I'd rather perform my own lobotomy than try to find a hotel room in the Bay Area these days with less than a week's notice; it's that impossible, and that frustrating to explain to the clients. Our fees will undoubtedly go up in the next year or two, and people will still pay even though we compete with the airlines and the Internet. It's like the U.S. has gone travel mad. The country's economy looks vigorously healthy from my side of the desk.

The travel agency is not dead. Long live the travel agency.

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