Age Of Five
Friday. Lights out at ten, although I don't remember how long it took to get to sleep. Probably a good sign it didn't take very long as I'm more likely to have remembered were it more difficult. Up then at a quarter past six. So good. Sunny outside, the temperature cool without being cold, a walk under a bright sun to breakfast. Should awaken those fifteen minutes later than usual more often.
Nothing on the schedule. I managed to talk myself out of doing the laundry, maybe continue on the closet clean-up I started yesterday. I may, strange to say. Turning the corner? If so, what corner? All this lack of effort and journal banality coming to an end? For a while, at least? Might. Might not. Kinda like the Warriors. Will they win? Will they lose? Will it make any difference in the changing of the seasons, the rising of the seas, the absence of bees near flower pots?
Later. A bus downtown to Latham Square thinking I was hungry and wanting lunch, taking the usual set of pictures and then deciding against going to the City Center and returning home on the bus instead. Off at the stop to walk along the lake where they'd started laying cement, extending the paved path where they'd left off, probably when they put in the pergola and fountain. So progress.
A dry mouth developed when I was downtown and on the way home so I spent half an hour lying down to see it dissipate. Good. At least better. Finished up moving two old computers into the closet I'd cleaned out yesterday, the room now more open and looking better. No real effort involved, but used the vacuum cleaner for the first time in some long while. Out of the blue: another task off the list.
Later still. They've announced the location of the Bernie Sanders rally to be held Monday: Frank Ogawa Plaza in front of the Oakland City Hall. I'll be there taking pictures, although I'm not sure if I should bring two cameras. Maybe opt to bring one. The “don't want to go” creepies will undoubtedly kick in, it's being held at seven in the evening, but we'll go. Hard to call yourself a photographer if you don't.
Listened to the usual news programs this afternoon, read the various Twitter feeds on the tablet while lying on the bed. It reached seventy-eight degrees today and the particulate warnings say be cautious. Not sure I can tell the difference in the lungs. Odd to think people put up with it in China and India and London where you not only breath the air, but chew the air, hungry or not.
Evening. Pasta with clam sauce for dinner. There was a time when I had it practically every night and now, well, the body started saying no way until now. I suspect another month will pass before we have it again, no matter how many cans of clam sauce may still reside in the kitchen cupboard. Does Amazon wonder why I don't order it anymore?
Watched Democracy Now and its reporting and discussion of the President's visit to Hiroshima. I was two years old when they dropped those bombs and remember an answer to a question I asked my father when I was about five: “We were all worried it was something you could cobble together in a kitchen sink.” The further we progress, the easier it becomes to create such things. There's no way to stop the science, is there a way we can find to stop us?
I'm not sure I was particularly bothered or scared at the time, not understanding at the age of four or five quite what it meant, but of all the questions asked and answered then, this is the one I still remember. Maybe you know more than you know at the age of five.