Friday. Lights out by nine-thirty to awaken briefly at five-thirty and then at six-fifteen to get up, check the particulate count (200) and drive to breakfast by six fifty-five, arriving at seven to feed the meter (setting it to nine this time) and settle in for breakfast. So far, so good. No complaints. We're heading on the train to Portland this evening and feeling upbeat. I think.

The two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, country potatoes, toast, fruit cup and coffee for breakfast, keeping an eye on the clock and so finishing the papers at nine, right on time. Checking out I'd asked the waitress about the smoke in Sacramento, as she drives in from Sacramento when she's working here, and she said the particulate count had been four hundred and fifty yesterday, all her local shops long ago sold out of face masks. She too had ordered some from Amazon, but they weren't due to arrive until next week. Oh. 450. And I'm complaining? Really?

Set out for home at nine, taking a picture of the planter that holds the pandorea vines. It looks as if someone had stripped the flowers since yesterday, one last flower remains. A sidewalk photo and then home.

Later. How much camera gear to take? I'll be out shooting with my sister and taking more than I usually might makes sense, so I packed a larger bag and added the long lens camera to the backpack. The afternoon has been spent packing, going over the list I made yesterday: remember this, remember that. At least it's done. Mostly.

Evening. Off to the station, the train due at nine-forty. The laptop is unfortunately toast and so I won't be posting until I get back. Haven't taken a train in years and I can see, in this less than coherent session packing, how much I've become slower and scattered.