Sunday To sleep at the usual time, but up at least once to take a leak and then later at five to zone out until six and half listen to the radio until it was time to get up and drive to breakfast under clear skies, the weather people saying a high in the nineties today and tomorrow. Arrived early, but all the tables were in place and so settled in with the papers to finish up after nine, all the tables occupied again as I was leaving.

Took the usual pictures (less one) on the way to the car and drove straight home to take the selfie and then settle in here, finishing up before eleven. Bright sun out there, maybe at least look at the lake later, take a walk by the construction site just up the way on my hill.

You've still got boxes to go through, things to throw out, old magazines you've promised to find.

Later. A high of ninety-four this afternoon, the Glass Fire in Napa is burning lickety-split on the news broadcasts and the N.Y. Times has published Trumps tax returns today, the first in a series that will continue through the coming weeks and so I naturally spent the time with a fan at the foot of the bed watching a series on the tablet. Enough stuff happening on a single day/week/month/year you'd hope.

I did think to walk up the street to take pictures at the construction site, but didn't come close to doing it. Thinking to do it and actually doing it seem to inhabit separate feuding sections of my brain, both shouting no quarter given, no quarter asked.

Evening. Watched Last Tango In Halifax at eight before returning to bed. I bitch about it (Last Tango), but seem to have watched it with some interest when I could make out what they were saying through their accents, the television speakers and my not quite up to snuff ears. Warm, it is. I'm not looking forward to what they're saying is coming through the end of day tomorrow in temperature and fires.