Monday. Lights out before ten to get an uneven night's sleep, but decent enough by current standards, finally awakening and getting up at six-ten to walk out the door at seven-thirty on a clear cool morning. Felt good.

Eggs Benedict, country potatoes, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast over today's two morning papers, as there's no East Bay Times delivered on Mondays, and then back to the apartment, the crew at the parking lot below my hill working on whatever it is they're working on and so a picture. “They were digging a hole til the rain came in” played to the Beatles tune came to mind, which means we are babbling and it's best to stop now.

At least your mood seems good.

Not bad for a Monday, I'd say.

Later. Noticed two workmen replacing a car side window just below my bedroom window where it was parked just off the street along side the building next door. Curious, went down and asked it the car had been vandalized where it was parked, but the workman said he didn't know. Didn't push it further by asking if there'd been broken glass below the window, as he and his partner seemed not in a mood for conversation, so returned to the apartment hoping it hadn't happened there. Too close to home.

OK, I'd been out in the bright sun, nice temperature and so picked up a camera and walked the short distance to take pictures of the crew digging that hole in the parking lot and caught them just as they were finishing a session. Not sure how deep that hole is they're digging, but the amount of earth they've excavated gives a hint. Again, have no idea what it's for.

Does it matter?

Not really, but interesting when you're retired and there's not a lot going on. Good day, though, the sinus-upper palate behaving, the head seemingly clear. Might get me out the door again. I never really know, but if I were honest I'd say it's probably not looking good.

Evening. A bath. Been a while. Finished a movie on the tablet, started another, listened to the news and that was about it for an afternoon.

Checked Democracy Now! at five-thirty, made it through the first thirty minutes and then went back to bed and the tablet, getting up again to check out Father Brown at seven, watching about the first fifteen minutes and then returned to bed. Why do I bother?

It occurred to be I'd read one or two of the C. K. Chesterton books and so checked the shelves (books are stored in alphabetical order by author) and I indeed had two of his titles. Wouldn't hurt to read one, see how badly they've warped the characters into the childish nonsense they've become for television. No commitment to read an entire book, you understand, just, you know, check it out. It's probably been forty years since I've read one of them now.