Rain, as it happens, lots of rain. I and one other weekend regular at the café this morning over breakfast. Still, the day starting well. They're saying this may be the last gasp of winter, rain for the next few days, but they say many things that need to be taken with a grain of salt. This is California, summer is coming, we'll miss the rain soon enough, I suppose, if we would ever take the time to sit down and remember what days were like when there was no sun. There's a day ahead, what to do with it?

Later. A walk around Jack London Square (again) during the noon hour, the head toward the edge of dizzy, but otherwise OK. Easy enough to find a parking spot on a Sunday a couple of short blocks away, the Sunday farmer's market in operation. I stopped to buy a cupcake, one with frothy white frosting, something I've been hankering after for some reason. Nothing particularly wonderful about it, but I ate it up sitting at a table in front of Barnes and Noble, a quick look through their photography section for old time's sake. How many book stores did I haunt in my earlier days? How many books bought? How many have I bought now that I've discovered Amazon? A quick browse of their Fiction/Literature section to see if they had anything that caught my eye. How many of them did I already own, have owned for what are now decades? More than a few, more than a few.

Back home now having taken a dose of the pain pills to see if it makes the aching roof the the mouth go away, if it has any effect on the slight wobbliness I've been experiencing. Not dizzy, as such, but a kind of on the edge of being dizzy if, I don't know, the temperature were different, the sun was shining or the clouds a different color. We'll see. It tends to change. Up in the morning feeling fine, the aching mouth comes along at some point, goes away at some point, all of it on its own schedule. Still, I'm up and about, took a couple of pictures while I was out, no complaints.

Those weren't complaints?

I think of them as descriptions, things that are on my mind, nothing too special, nothing too trite (well, OK, trite), what comes out when I'm sitting here at the keyboard and Ms. Emmy is on my lap. I seem to recall reading of famous writers who's personal journals contained detailed descriptions of the problems they were having with gout, aching knees and the like. Well, gout. I remember gout.

And that means?

It means I'm thinking of excuses as I'm saying I, stalwart I, don't make excuses. The more you put down, the more you trip up.

Amen brother.

Amen.