See, I have to decide what pants to wear. I have to dress to leave as if I were in Hobart, Tasmania. That's the coldest place I'll be, some time in June, winter there and about 10 degrees Celsius. I have a turtle-neck long sleeve T-shrit right now and a corduroy shirt-jacket. When I get to Hong Kong (temp there is between 24 low and 31 high, with showers), I'll put on a sleeveless blouse and a skirt, and I have a very civilized dress to wear for High Tea at Raffles at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon or whenever March 21st is there.

I'm still packing. I'm still pretty hyper. Once I get into the airport, I'll calm down. If there's WiFi in the Hong Kong airport I'll do a blog, otherwise, hang in there until I get into the Pan-Pacific hotel - I think that's the name of it.

What a world! In other times, people going off like this knew that they would never see their loved ones again. That, of course, is why so many women, so many emigrant women, kept diaries. Their journals were their letters home, never to be mailed, or read. Who knows who is going to read my blog, aka my letter home?

I found a cartoon in an old New Yorker this morning: two little kids in a playground and one is saying, "I thought I'd be a successful fashion blogger by now." I'm taping it in my diary.

Anon,anon.