Saturday. Obviously I wrote last night's entry this morning, being in no shape to do it then. To bed before eight to awaken at quarter to six feeling well rested and ready for the morning. Again, I've been through a whole lot of ocular migraines by now, they come, they go and when they go they're gone.

Out the door to walk to breakfast after six-thirty, a time when the East Bay Times has usually arrived. But not this morning. Passed by people, tents and structures going up over by the lake and only understood what it was about until I looked at the pictures I'd taken later when walking home. A Hemophilia Walk. I believe I remember photographing at least one of them in the past.

The oatmeal, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast. No thought to take chances. Pork chops, at least as they're prepared at my morning café, are or now out of bounds. Still, sunny, the temperature cool and so a walk home thinking I was up for the Cinco De Mayo street festival they're holding in the San Francisco Mission District later this afternoon. I'd been fighting the idea yesterday, but clear headed me at the moment is ready to go.

No chance you'll opt for this local Hemophilia Walk instead?

Thought about it. Thought about the How Weird Street Faire that's happening tomorrow. Will I wear myself out by going to the Cinco De Mayo thing today? After reading a story in the paper this morning saying many Mexican Americans and Mexicans consider it more an American opportunity to sell tequila cocktails and Mexican food than anything they themselves consider culturally important. Another excuse not to go. Right now we're at go. I think.

Later. A bath. And then, well, a decision to crap out on the Cinco De Mayo street festival in San Francisco. This is getting old even for me.

A walk over to the lake around one o'clock to see what was left of the Hemophilia Walk and finding them packing up the tents, signs and portable band stand. All of two pictures. Turned around right back home to watch television and not much else. At least we got in a bath.

Evening. Watched one or two things on the tablet, one or two things on television, remembered to print out the ticket I'd bought online for the How Weird Street Faire and pinned it to the inside of the front door. Not that I'd forget to take it with me, of course.

I haven't watched the Saturday night PBS movie in forever and can't remember the last time I've watched a Broadway show (I own a number of them from a much younger age when I listened to such things a long, long time ago), but watched Show Boat this evening. Figured I'd stay with it long enough to listen to Ol' Man River, sung in this version by William Warfield. Not the better Paul Robeson performance, but still worth the listening. The music is still fresh for me and it's interesting and sobering to see the changes sixty years have made in our societal norms, prejudices and culture.

You're preaching.

A perfect sign it's time for bed.