Saturday. As I've mentioned, I've made at least three, maybe four relatively radical changes in my life over the last forty years and I suspect my thoughts on the seventies relate to the fact you can't go back. You can say hello, tip your hat, catch up on old times, but you can't go home again. Somebody wrote a book about that. I have a copy up on a shelf somewhere. The other Wolfe. A recurring interminable theme in these pages: time for another change as radical, I suspect, as any in the past, but what? When? Tomorrow?
Breakfast at the usual place, arriving somewhat earlier than I should, having just the Saturday Chronicle in hand. The thin, speed read too few pages Saturday Chronicle leaving you to sit and wait on the kitchen to open without distraction. You tend to do silly things, waiting on breakfast, taking say, an idle photograph to while away the time. I was thinking of PhotoShopping a portrait into one of the windows and that could be interesting except I've done it before and probably don't need to do it again.
Overcast, another Saturday farmer's market forming up as I drove past, an early breakfast and then a run by the supermarket to pick up cat food, cereal and sake. Not sure why sake except it's Saturday and I often enjoy a cup or two after dinner. If I have dinner. Mr. S is playing with his band today and tomorrow at the Scottish Highland Games at the Dunsmuir Hellman estate and I suspect I'll go there and listen over a Guinness. Do you need sake in an evening when you've had Guinness in the afternoon? We'll see. Wouldn't surprise me. I limited the purchase to two of the small wine glass size bottles. Thinking ahead, adding a sensible stop to avoid getting out of hand.
What do you say to a potential employer who's just read that after searching you out on the web? “Getting out of hand?”
I ask if he or she might like sake too, for lunch with sushi or after dinner with crackers and Camembert? One must select one's employers with care. I've learned this lesson many times and made my share of bad choices. Some prefer whiskey, neat, in a glass. An employer like that will get you in trouble, I know from experience. Pick over your wanna be employers with care and you'll never regret it.
Later. I am twisted. Not in the sense of “may I have another glass of alcohol, please” twisted, but run around with a camera in the sun for more than an hour twisted. Had I not had that second hour sitting listening to the band I would undoubtedly be dead and have wasted the second day in a perfectly good weekend. So I'm looking forward to having that sake later with my feet up, watching that movie maybe that arrived in the afternoon mail. There was a time I looked forward to watching my Japanese soaps on a Saturday night, but they've devolved into hopeless Japanese propaganda targeted at their small (precocious five year old to lesser blessed seven year old) children. Or were they always thus and I've just recently noticed?
I learned this afternoon the Dunsmuir Scottish Highland Games has been running for something like thirty years, a kind of Renaissance Pleasure Faire in the sense there's a very large number of people, you assume of Scottish ancestry, running around in pre-nineteenth century costume. There were bagpipes. There were Scottish games. There was Scottish beer. There were Scottish clans and falconry. There were Morgan automobiles. There was music. And there I was with a camera all twisted after an hour or so of running around.