Hall of Oakland
Thursday. Up this morning at the usual time going to the usual place for breakfast and the papers, back before eight, no appointments or commitments until tomorrow morning where we meet with the ocular neurologist again down at Stanford. Good. (hup!)
I didn't go out for sake last night, spent quite a bit of time on the guitar, got to bed at nine-twenty, have no idea when I got to sleep. I keep thinking, as I'm lying in bed, well, this is taking a while, but in remembering it this morning I seem to have, well, just gone to sleep. A little blip or two coming back to something like consciousness, but basically sleep. Tired this morning, not overly tired, but it's coming together reasonably well. Does that mean we're rested? We'll know later this morning, I suspect. A nap could be in the offing.
Later. The day progresses. I did lay down for about an hour with the radio murmuring in the background and then got up feeling better to put together another How Weird Street Faire section for artandlife . I'd discovered I'd had close to a page of photographs from last year's fair I'd not used and they, with a few I couldn't fit into this year's sections, were enough for another page of twenty-one photographs. So it's just before eleven in the morning and we have another day ahead. Another walk anyway, with some guitar for seasoning. Tis the seasoning.
Later still. A walk down the way heading out in a t-shirt, the temperature up in the high seventies by late this morning, catching a bus downtown but walking back home. I spent twenty minutes out on the patio at Peet's nursing a latte, remembering finally I had a prescription refill I'd called in yesterday and it was probably ready. I'd also run out of their fiber capsules, something that makes any visits I make to a bathroom less exciting than they can often be without them. Not something you think about when you're younger.
Not something anyone wants to hear about either. Keep your thinking to yourself.
I know, but it's warm in here with the afternoon sun (and I'm good with self delusional excuses).
I've been thinking today about this guitar thing I've slipped into. I seem to be going through the assigned lessons pretty well, spending the needed time, but I think I want to add something more so I've decided to learn one new (simplified for the beginner guitarist) Beatles song every new week. So maybe I'll track that here, mention which song I'm learning, see how long it lasts. The Beatles songs are as good as any, I have a beginner's book and I can always pick up others as I may want them and able to play. (hup! hup!)
With one new song every week, routinely going over the older ones so I remember them, I'll be able to, when someone asks how the guitar is going, reply (guitar in hand) with a recognizable tune. We are learning to play this thing for a reason, right? To eventually play music? Odd, but I forget that from time to time as I'm going through the scales. We're not doing this to play scales. We're learning scales to play tunes. Songs? Music? Hup?
Even later. I've done about two hours on the guitar, not sure I can play any better, but I've started learning Norwegian Wood, adding it to In My Life on the list I talked about tracking, only fifty more to fill out the year. Hup! It's interesting to see how similar they are, the notes they share, the chords. Maybe that's obvious to others, but it's an experience to play them and get a bit of insight on how they were written, here in this vast concert hall of Oakland.