Saturday. Lights out not long after nine to awaken briefly a couple of times during the night, but to then awaken for good at six-thirty, running a little late, but guaranteeing the East Bay Times had arrived by the time I set out walking to breakfast.

Grand Avenue was interestingly empty of parked cars in preparation for the Half Marathon that would soon start or had already started from Frank Ogawa Plaza and so documented it with pictures.

The avocado and cheese (light on the cheese) omelet, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast. Felt right (sort of) and, what the hell, the weight is back to one-fifty. The runners had begun passing the café well before I was finished, but still ended up taking quite a few pictures of the runners walking home. Not something I've ever contemplated doing myself, running in or out of competition, but not counting it as a plus. Be interesting to have been in running shape if only at one point in my life, if only in the army.

The Pistahan Festival in San Francisco today and I suspect I'll go take photographs once the buses have started running again after eleven. I've gone in the past and, since it runs today and tomorrow, I'll have plenty of opportunity to get enough pictures for posting. My production has been dragging, something I've been thinking about. We're older, but not so old as to stop taking pictures. I hope.

Later. Packed the cameras and set out for the bus stop to stand there for maybe three minutes, three minutes being all it took to talk myself out of going to San Francisco to photograph the Pistahan Festival. Today, anyway. We'll think about what we said earlier if we don't photograph it tomorrow. Overcast and cool out there, a day to find things to do here inside added to the rationalization. And tired.

Later still. Not a bad day, the sun coming out in the early afternoon, although I've done and accomplished squat other than listening to and occasionally looking at various programs on television. The Law & Order series and golf.

Golf?

Intermittently. I don't follow golf, haven't played since high school and don't really know any of the player’s names but one or two, rather like a singer who's name I recognize, but don't know any of the songs they're famous for. Still, as said, not really getting anything done, not that getting things done is all that important on a weekend. Or weekday around here, for that matter.

All this sounds like babble.

More and more.

Evening. To bed and the tablet early this evening, bailing on writing here in the afternoon and adding this tomorrow morning.