Bed Before Ten
Thursday. To bed reasonably early last night, up almost an hour after the alarm this morning to get up feeling reasonably human as I headed off to breakfast. The parking meter didn't like my debit card so I gave up and cut my reading time short to not stay beyond the eight o'clock deadline to finish the papers. A break in the routine. Did it make me grumpy? Did I feel the need to write grumpy things about it? Not really, although I guess I've just mentioned it.
Jon Carroll's column in the Chronicle this morning talked about getting older and grumpy (with the accompanying ongoing failure of various body parts that goes along with it). He was smart enough not to go into detail (as I'm not smart enough to avoid), but it gave me some balance and perspective. We are, after all, not alone in this adventure and any day we can get up and tie our own shoes without assistance is a good and successful day, forget the bitching, say hosannas, lighten up. Hup!
Anyway, Memorial Day Weekend this coming weekend. They're saying a chance of rain for us around here, unlike the other side of the nation that's expecting record temperatures but, as long as it's reasonably dry on Sunday morning for the Carnaval Parade, I'm more than good with it. The guitar lesson is coming up at noon. On a Thursday. In May. Time to get ready.
Later. Since I got all that sleep last night I naturally took an hour's nap just now. I have no idea why I might have wanted or needed one, but take one I did and it was obviously to the good. So we learn as we wind down in this sixth decade of a life while we're napping.
A walk along Lake Merritt by the white columned pergola and fountain before driving over to the lesson, looking to see if I could find the goslings I'd discovered on Monday. Bingo. Four sets, four families. I'd worried the set with two goslings I'd found yesterday was all that was left of a family of seven I'd photographed Monday. Both families were there. Along with two more for a total of four. Bingo.
One was the family with the seven I'd found again on Monday; one, a new one, with a group of five larger and older goslings; another a young group of two and one another family found out swimming on the lake with two. How do they get themselves out of the lake? The two adults hopped up and out, back in again and then back out to continue feeding. My assumption was they must - how would any of them survive if they jumped into the water and then couldn't get back out? - but you never know. I left them out swimming on their own. Maybe they're playing cute and they'll half fly, half hop up and out when they're ready. Can they? They must, right? You'd think.
A walk back to the apartment to drive over to the guitar lesson where I discovered I'd been practicing my blues riff wrong, using the wrong finger on the frets for a two note sequence and for some reason adding an extra note where it didn't belong. Which screws up your performance. You work to get down a riff, you don't change it on a dime without going over it and practicing it again and again. Bummer. Still, not a bad session, I think we made progress. Hup.
A run by the supermarket, something of a habit now, after the guitar lesson, picking up some stuff including two of the small serving bottles of sake. We'll relax with them later I suspect.
Later still. Another nap, obviously still tired. It's now late afternoon and I'm sitting here with the news droning on in the background. This afternoon nap underlines my thought I can now do one major photo shoot on any given day, the Carnaval my one for this coming Sunday and, more likely, my one session for the entire three day weekend. Unless I have an urge to drive straight into a wall. You learn as you go along (down) I suppose.
Evening. The six o'clock show was, well, something not worth watching (I say this more often than not, I'm afraid) so I read the rest of the papers lying in bed that I wasn't able to finish this morning. A kind of napping while reading. Some time on the guitar, but not enough. There's a British police thing on PBS I'm watching at the moment. Best, one way or another, to get to bed before ten.