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July 9, 2011

Are Neighbors About

Saturday. I've had a period during these last couple of weeks where what I've been calling a “fuzzy” head has been more pronounced, the writing here has been somewhat more difficult (as in making sense), the world has been a bit more closed in and I've made more than a few errors of the kind where you forget what you set out to do (walking into the next room only to say why did I do this?) and other, more dangerous, distractions.

Last night and for the last couple of days, however, things seem to have pulled themselves somewhat together and I've been putting some of it in perspective. The writing here is just that, writing, more typing than writing really. Not altogether unlike what I've learned in practicing the guitar, if you don't push you don't further the craft, and I've not been pushing the words. Not good to be vegetating without thought or direction. I have, over the years, developed my own particular style, have written at times seriously for extended periods, so why let it just lie and ossify? Age, at least for now, is no excuse. Unless this fuzzy headed thing becomes permanent.

No thought to set the world on fire, I'm more than content with the positive feedback from practice, but if we can keep this fuzzy headed, upper palate-sinus thing in line, there's no reason I can't expand my horizons. (add the hup, hups!) The attitude is good (albeit, yes, fuzzy, I suspect I'll have to live with that), so we'll see how it goes. If there's (another) relapse, well, that's the breaks. But I'm not ready for relapse-ation quite yet.

Relapse-ation? You don't cringe? Aren't you embarrassed?

As I said, the mood is good. Not unusual to cross the idiot line when you're feeling fine.

Up, by the way, without the alarm at six, to breakfast and back before eight (with only the Chronicle and the Tribune to read I go through them quite quickly), the sky overcast, the temperature cool but nice, a day without anything in the way of photographic events ahead. I'm not in a place where the options are any different than they've been, but let's see if we can make something of them. (HUP!)

Later. With all the above a bus downtown and then a walk back to the apartment, the sky still quite overcast and the temperatures just at the edge of cold (in a long sleeve shirt and light jacket). Still, a good outing, the territory the same familiar territory, the attitude good.

And so walking back that last half mile the mouth began to become dry and then all the other various symptoms I associate with an ocular migraine began to emerge, so I lay down for an hour and they decided to pass. Now, one in the afternoon, life is again underway. Go figure. Best not to temp the gods with my morning gibberish or they'll dish you a little of your own desserts. But again, one in the afternoon, the sun in a clear sky (the angels blowing bugles and doing loop the loops) and the ocular demons are gone. We'll see what the rest of the day might hold.

Later still. A walk down and over to the lake, heading through the farmer's market to have a late lunch at the usual place. Odd to have an hour or so “event” and then feel really good walking along not all that long after. But we don't make the rules. Be happy for the ups.

A picture or two as I was walking, nothing special, although I like the idea at least of the guy with the horn. With a guitar you can turn it down low or wear headphones (I may have to use this as an excuse to get some headphones) and your neighbors are none the wiser, a guy with a saxophone though, finds himself in a more difficult situation. The Horn Blows at Midnight. Well, yes, but not when there are neighbors about.

A note: Another chapter posted to You Tube by my cousin's son. I hear there's a wedding coming up down there soon, I think I may well attend. What do you wear to an L.A. wedding anymore as a camera in the crowd?

You? Drive over a bridge? L.A.? In the middle of a snow swept L.A. summer? You?

The photograph was taken walking along Grand with a Nikon D3 mounted with a 24-120mm f 4.0 Nikkor VR lens.