Tuesday. Another overcast morning, the fog coming in like clockwork in the evenings in the Bay Area, up at six fifteen (without the alarm), to breakfast by quarter to seven, newspapers in hand. Home just after eight. A call from my hair stylist cancelling our appointment this morning, evidently she was ill over the weekend. No problem, simplifies the day, gives me more time to procrastinate. And I've probably cancelled on her at least once over these last many years. I would think.
Later. Still overcast, but the sun is starting to break through now that it's approaching noon. A walk over to the lake to see if I could find the goslings, but to no avail. A photograph just to shoot one, documenting again the flocks (I want to say herds) of geese that congregate along the lake. This is just one of many. Many. They no longer migrate north or south, from what I'm hearing, they just, you know, hang out.
A bus then downtown to have a cup of coffee out on the patio at Peet's, a photograph I rather like, although I wasn't sure there was one there in front of me as I sat and watched the smokers come down from the building and light up. A walk then back home, passing through the City Center thinking I was hungry, even though I'd had a decent breakfast (it was just after ten in the morning, after all), not being able to come up with anything I wanted to eat, two photographs of Mr. Miyagi who was practicing over to the side of the stage area in front of City Hall. I'll call him Mr. Miyagi from here on out. Whatever he's practicing I'm sure it's the real deal.
Two workers were putting up plywood over the windows at the Men's Wearhouse on Broadway, preparing for any trouble that may come with the verdict at the Mehserle trial. Today? Tomorrow? People are obviously taking this seriously, but I wonder how real the danger is that something will happen as it did the day Oscar Grant was killed. There's going to be a lot of people in the downtown - too many fliers, too many mentions on the web and in the press not to - maybe just the size of a crowd will trigger a reaction. I have no idea. I suspect the people at Men's Wearhouse probably do.
An amble then farther down Broadway looking in at the music store to check out music stands. Music stands. I have the music sheets laying on a bar stool at the moment, not all that convenient when you're practicing the guitar. Just another way to spend money I don't need to spend, of course, and, if I'd bought one, I'd have had to carry it all the way back home. (To be honest.)
A photograph of a line of Cormorants this time, the photograph turning out better than I thought. Another photograph of my stump down beside the sidewalk on Euclid just off Grand. It changes a little every time I pass: weeds, match book covers, leaves. So I take its photograph and get just a bit defensive about it.
Now, I think, to prepare for this EEG thing I have in the morning down at Stanford hospital. I can't sleep after midnight tonight and they don't want me driving (for the obvious reason), so I have to figure out how I'm going to handle this without a ride. A motel? Something like that.
You'll end up driving. You're one of the idiots they're worried about.
Well, yes. But not the whole distance, right? Besides, what's a little sleep deprivation at seventy miles an hour? Who'll notice? I suspect there are lots of old farts on the road at any given moment who haven't slept for days. Keeps you alert. Keeps you watching for sudden lane changes, sudden swerves.
Later still. Another walk through the local area taking a picture or two (what else?), concentrating on birds (we have birds, we have lots and lots of birds), another shot of another flock (carpet?) of geese over by the children’s play area. You know they're everywhere when they're found salted in and among the kids, paying not a bit of attention. Fearless. Divorced from their lives in the wild.
A picture of a Pelican and then a picture of two Pelicans and then home. Too many birds. But a nice walk. Now to think about that damned test tomorrow.