Saturday. Listened to the six minute KQED news on the radio before turning out the lights last night, to awaken at five-thirty. Too early, but felt fine and so up and out the door on a clear and cold morning, the eyes not acting up as badly as they have in the past, arriving just before seven to find the restaurant open. So far, so good.

The French toast with sliced bananas and strawberries, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, finishing up at eight-thirty to take a picture of the gas price increase across the street before returning and heading home, stopping at the barber shop to make a haircut appointment for this coming Wednesday. Bright sun, the usual pictures, another selfie after entering the apartment house lobby.

OK. Booted the computer and the external drive that holds the photographs I've taken in the last year didn't show any files. Rebooted the computer and this time it didn't show up at all. This is disconcerting. OK. Looked at yesterday's entry. Didn't remember quitting so early, just the usual almost cut and past description of yesterday's breakfast and that was it. Added a paragraph and posted. Now to find that drive.

Later. Turns out it wasn't the connection to the drive, I just needed to turn it off and then on again to have the main computer recognize it. This is good.

Watching the Dell Match Play Championship on television, Tiger Woods doing well. No urge to go outside, although the sky is clear with a bright sun. Nothing new in my attitude here, I'm afraid.

Later still. Tiger lost his match on the 18th hole, missing a putt. Such is life and, one assumes, golf.

Watched a couple of episodes of an Icelandic series on the tablet after the tournament, my mother's side of the family from Iceland. My grandparents spoke Icelandic, of course, and I remember from very early on my mother mentioning her father would occasionally swear using a two word Icelandic phrase, one of those words used in this Icelandic series, the English translation printed, of course, along the bottom of the screen. It is indeed a proper swear word, the meaning of which I've wondered about now for over seventy years.

Evening. Nothing on television and so watched a mediocre movie on the tablet, silly thing, but it kept me to the end, before turning on the radio until ten. Ten seems to be the norm, eight hours of sleep if I awaken the next morning at six, although you never get to sleep all that soon thereafter. Seems to work, though. Mostly.