Monday. It seems eons ago, the late sixties Vietnam era, but watched the Ken Burns hour and a half episode last night with some interest, getting to bed before ten and lights out not long after. Awakened at six-forty, though, later than I say I'd like, but if I'm honest it's just about the right time for better morning light and a guaranteed delivery of the East Bay Times. Today is the one day in the week it's not delivered, as it happens, but six-forty is probably a better time. Maybe start setting the alarm the way real people do.
Overcast, but the body pretty much having reassembled before the walk to breakfast, passing by this bicycle with a bent front tire. An accident of some kind, a story there of some kind.
An avocado with (light on the) cheese omelet with country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee breakfast. Nothing else appealed. Read the papers to find in the Times that Rolling Stone magazine is in financial trouble and up for sale. Lots of history in R.S. from my early days in San Francisco, sorry to see it being sold. Still maintain a subscription, but it's easy to see why they've been having trouble.
An easy walk home. A different and better lens on the small V 1 camera this time out. The exposure, sharpness and such seem improved, but still not in any way matching the performance of the big DSLR's. Ah well. Change, whether we want it or not, whether fair or not, whether it makes us happy or not, comes to us all.
Later. A nap before a walk to the Lakeshore ATM and then across the street to the card shop to buy a birthday card, thinking maybe a yogurt cup and coffee at Noah's Bagels, but found all the outside tables taken and so on to the apartment, carrying the camera in the backpack. Didn't pass by anything I wanted to photograph, but it's not quite the same thing, the camera in the bag and not in the hand. We'll see how this goes one way or another. We'll survive.
Another nap when I got home. Tired and an hour or so in bed seems to have straightened that out. Sunny and cool outside.
Evening. Watched the Naomi Kline session on Democracy Now and then walked to the 7-11 look-alike for an ice cream bar and bag of Chipotle peanuts. Not sure if the peanuts were a good idea, but back to watch a Father Brown at seven. I wonder if the Father Brown series was written to be watched by children. Still, I watched the damned thing.
And then watched the second episode of The Vietnam War now set in the very early sixties, learning one or two things I hadn't known of before, but so far pretty much paralleling my understanding of what had happened. I wasn't paying the attention when I started, when we all started, paying in the mid to late sixties, but the story is unfolding pretty much as I understood it to have happened. To bed afterward. Tired. Maybe something to do with having, in some ways, to re-experience the period.