Of A Lake
Sunday. Yes it is. Sunday. I've vacuumed the living room working over the two spots where Ms. Emmy threw her cookies without apparent effect. Paper towels and Nature's Miracle from here on out. I knew this, you knew this, but it was useful in putting off the task yesterday and bumping it to this morning. I could have bumped it to Monday, any old Monday, fall or winter, without batting an eyelash. Plenty of excitement at this end of the lake I'm thinking.
And that's it? Sunday, do the rugs? You didn't run the lake, bake a cake, wash your car or visit a bar?
Well, there were a number of festivals in the area this weekend: a Castro Street Fair, a Bluegrass festival, a Columbus Day parade, a Juggling and Unicycle festival (in Berkeley, where else?) as well as the culmination of Fleet Week with a performance by the Blue Angels, none of which have been able to get me out my door other than to drive (rather than walk) to breakfast. OK, we re-group, we give ourself a gold star for attacking the rugs, the living room rugs, anyway, the bedroom is still in desperate condition.
So should we be concerned?
I guess not. At least this has been my routine for quite some time. I'm at least posting to the journal. I've added my three cents to a couple of political blogs. I'm out of photographs and that will get me off my duff. I'm due to travel down to La Honda and attend a motorcycle show and meet with a friend who's entering his two Ducatis this weekend. I have a photography class all day Tuesday and a presentation by a well known photographer who's name I don't remember in San Francisco that evening. There are plans for partying on Thursday or Friday. I have a lunch date on Wednesday. With this I'll say that all is well in dingle dell on the north side of a lake here in Oakland.
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