Monday. A strange rambling day, yesterday, but an upbeat day for whatever it was that happened. No ambition whatsoever to go anywhere and take pictures (well, “go anywhere” - we can always get our head around taking pictures), but feeling upbeat and with energy enough to scrub the tub. An odd statement, maybe, but an interesting sign of life here in Oakland.
Pretty low standard for determining signs of life, don't you think?
Well, doesn't seem to take much when you're retired. Some people get out the tool box and add a room onto their house, some people scrub the tub. It's documented in a sitcom somewhere, one I'm sure you remember.
Back on track, please.
To sleep early enough last night, awake at six, half an hour before the alarm, to get up, check the weight (still running two pounds under the one-sixty target), check the blood pressure (ninety-nine over sixty-eight, not sure that's good as I'd just taken this morning's blood pressure pill and wondered what effect it will have when it kicks in). Screw it: out the door with camera and newspapers, feeling just fine on a sunny, clear blue sky, start to a day.
Later. No use scrubbing a tub if you can't get right in again to gum it up, so a bath while listening to the news on the bedroom radio before a bus downtown at noon to shoot another set of Latham Square photographs in what was by then t-shirt weather, a nice breeze moderating a temperature in the low eighties.
Over to the City Center for a plain poppy seed bagel and coffee out at the usual table, lots of people about. Two pounds under our target on the scale this morning, no need to gain it back after a larger than usual breakfast, particularly when you're not hungry.
A walk by the City Hall taking a picture. I donated a dollar when they asked, but passed on the offered cupcake. Should have given more. One last Latham Square photograph passing on Telegraph, a photo of the reflection of a building being renovated at Broadway and Franklin.
A bus then to the apartment house construction site. Pictures from up behind the project before crossing Broadway to check what I'd noted earlier when heading downtown on the bus. Made out the name Gyp-Crete on the bags after blowing up the images and checking the web. It's used as a “floor undercoating”. I'd been thinking cement or white plaster, but hadn't asked. Like asking for directions, men don't do that.
And so it's coming up on three, the weather people say it's eighty-two with warmer temperatures on the way starting tomorrow. Just what we need in this evolving dust bowl by a lake.
You're being silly. We're both too old for silly.
Or, one hopes, not quite yet old enough.
Evening. A look at Charlie Rose at eight having spent the early evening in bed on the tablet, a too short session playing along on the guitar before going back to bed. Lights out early? One can only hope.