Monday. Lights out early and sleep soon after. Early to sleep: one good aspect of yesterday's alcohol. Awakening at six feeling much better, the body rhythms normal, the head a little fuzzy, but no more so than on any other seemingly reasonable morning.

The waitress who was due to open the restaurant this morning had warned me she wouldn't be arriving until seven, perhaps a little later, and so took my time getting the act together, setting out at a quarter to seven, the walk then getting me there two minutes before the waitress arrived. So good, although it really hadn't dawned on me that today was Presidents Day and the parking meters wouldn't be in play. Best I hadn't known or I would have driven. The morning walk, although short, just under half a mile, at least adds some exercise to the day.

The eggs Benedict, country potatoes, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast over the papers (rarely do we eat breakfast under the papers) before heading home, taking a pandorea buds in waiting picture and a couple along the sidewalk, the sun bright, the wind much colder than it's been under direct sunlight. The one area where I'd been taking pictures of flowers below the old Lakeview School was buried under a trash can, so took a picture of another that was nearby. The excitement for the day, I suspect.

Got back to edit yesterday's entry. I'd stopped writing well before drinking that one serving of sake in the afternoon. Even then, what I had written in the morning had a number of words scrambled in ways you'd have caught with even a minimal look later and so my thoughts of generally being clear headed in the mornings may be suspect. Fuzzy headed throughout the day? Sounds like I've become a comic strip character. Still, don't yet need a cane, don't walk with a hobble, we're still ahead of many another's game and so shouldn't be griping.

Now are you going to go back and edit what you've written after all this grousing?

Later. A slow enough afternoon to go up on the shelf with its many mirror image others. Listened to the usual news programs, got in a hour's nap, avoided without success one or two “clever” good guys versus bad guys programs: never ending lame jokes while killing the bad guys. Hard to make something like that work in something other than say Casablanca and even it wears with age and culture change.

Evening. I'd seen and so skipped any thought of watching the Father Brown episode at seven, actually watched without flinching some of the Miss Fisher that followed, felt it was time for bed when the Doctor Blake episode arrived. I was pushing myself to stay up later than I usually will, not sure why.