Sunday. A long day, I'd say, up just before the alarm went off, to breakfast and back by eight, off then to drive downtown to park (finding a spot right off) in plenty of time to catch the first San Francisco BART train of the day, out and onto Market Street at eight-thirty five, camera in hand. This time Market was indeed closed to traffic and the motorcycles had begun to arrive. A good sign, I thought. Another blank on the parade and I'd have thought about checking into the local funny farm for older adults.

In the two hours of shooting before the parade started Market Street filled with more people, both participants and spectators, than I've seen at one of these parades in a while although I was also thinking many of the Dykes I've photographed in recent parades were missing, many were there, but I wasn't sure how large this year's Dykes turnout compared to what looked like an ocean of other contingents forming like some great wave. Not something to think about when I'm photographing the startup of a parade, the rule is keep moving, keep looking, keep shooting in a marathon that doesn't allow for much of anything more.

When the engines started and the last bike took off, the rest of the parade snaking in behind them, I headed down the stairs in a nearby BART entrance and caught an arriving train back to Oakland. Just like that. Four hundred photographs, some of them reasonably good, most of them crap. Well, let's say almost good: the timing off, the facial expressions off, the photographer incompetent, the luck of the Irish lost. Enough to fill those two sections I was talking about, though, maybe three. We'll see, deedle-dee-dee. It takes time to sort it out.

Later still. For whatever reason, after running maybe twenty or so pictures through Photoshop, I decided I needed to get out again, maybe get a late lunch at the morning restaurant. For my saying this morning's shooting wore me down, well, it did, made some muscles ache none too seriously for a while, but the head was pretty much clear and reasonably sharp. I do pay attention to such, a quick thought as I out - how's the vision, is the mouth dry, am I wobbly here or wobbly there? - compared with recent days and events, and today has been a good day I'd say, hey: hup! hup!

Again, a warm day, not too warm, t-shirt weather, so a walk again down to the usual place to have a sandwich, a glass of water and a few bites of their potato salad. I'm still not able to eat all that much. A walk back to sit and watch a group of Salsa dancers practice in front of the white columns by the lake. I sat for a few minutes and watched, took one or two half hearted pictures as I was leaving (you certainly didn't think I'd go out without a camera just because I'd spent the morning shooting?) and returned to the apartment.

Three in the afternoon, where's the day gone? Time now needed to write this, finish the photographs, begin on the guitar. More god damned hup! hups! if I'm going to get it all done. The weekends seem to be the stressful days in this retiree's week. I'm looking forward to tomorrow when I can relax.