Of A Psychiatrist
Saturday. I read some of the book last night that I downloaded to the Kindle yesterday, the robot-wars of the future thing, and found it interesting enough. We'll see, my interest is more in seeing me actually reading at all than what it's about. Reading is an old ingrained habit I'd just as soon not lose, although I'm not sure how you go about reviving it (other than reading, of course). Maybe there's a genre out there that I can get excited about. I believe old guys tend to read military histories and such. Not sure I want to read military histories and such.
Anyway, reading into the night, I got to sleep well after eleven, later than I like, up with the alarm this morning and then to and back from breakfast before eight. Nothing on the schedule for today. Fleet week is ongoing in San Francisco today and tomorrow with the Blue Angels flying about, although I've not had much interest in photographing it in the past. The Rockridge Out and About Street Festival is scheduled for tomorrow and that I'll attend, so there's something on the plate.
Otherwise it's eight in the morning, the sun is out and I'm thinking of taking a short walk down the way to see what the light is about. I don't get out early often enough with a camera when the light is this nice.
Later. An hour's nap, nap in that I got an hour's sleep, none of this namby-pamby fuzzy headed stuff, up now just before noon. Needed it I'd think, although it takes a good half hour for reality in all its pieces to come together after. We're using “reality” in the looser sense here, don't wish to imply I'm familiar with it in more than just a passing relationship.
I did get out for a short forty-five minute walk between eight and nine stumbling across this fellow along the lake. I was thinking, well, I'm out earlier than my habit, what's the bird life up to? What's the light like? Are there really as many people as there seem to be this early in the morning as I see while driving back from breakfast? On a Saturday?
Anyway, the lake had but a bird or two on its surface and only a few geese eating whatever they eat in the grass, the grass quite wet. OK, I'll still walk along the lake shore and doing so I stumbled upon this guy, getting as many pictures as I could since I was carrying a camera mounted with an equivalent 270mm lens. So good. Short walk or not it resulted in one or two nice photographs.
A loop through the farmer's market that was setting up for the day ahead, only a few shoppers yet, and then a walk back home: the air crisp, the sun out and people absorbed in doing their push ups, stretches and runs. It's no longer odd to see people doing stretching exercises, more pantomime performances than stretching has always been my thought. I'm obviously missing out on an entire exercise movement that's taken over the lake. At least it's good for photographs.
Later still. A walk down to (where else) the morning restaurant around two for a mocha coffee and a lemon bar, a walk back as the farmer's market was finishing packing up.
For some reason I wanted to find an old piece of art sent to me in the early seventies by a friend of Wilson's and found the column head Chuck Dowd had done for the humor column I wrote for the University of Washington Daily in the early 60's in addition to a number of class pictures, diplomas and such going back to the early fifties and grade school in Washington.
I've misplaced some things I really need to find and we'll see if I do. A good sign the energy and the clear head is gaining ground would be if I followed through. Don't hold your breath though, wouldn't want to damage anyone's lungs.
I'm realizing putting off looking for old pictures, putting them in albums and similar tasks isn't something that's developed later in my life. I've gone through more than a few projects in years past that started well enough and then fizzled out, were boxed up in pieces and put up on a shelf. Now that I've got all this time on my hands now that I'm retired I could, well.... I suspect it isn't so much a lack of energy here, but the lack of a psychiatrist.