You can go home again.

I'm sort of worthless this week (month, year). No focus, inability to sequence and proceed with tasks, etc. Knocked off my perch on so many levels.

Finally got my car back from Chrysler, a couple grand later. Should be good to go, knock on simulated wood veneer.

Kind of feel bad about all the weeds in my yard but I realize I shouldn't, driving around town, all of the yards look like mine, after the major rains. In my case, hard to cut into the weeds without destroying the grand gladiolus experiment.

I had to go to the People's Republic of Ocean Beach yesterday to return a necklace. Leslie and my friend Tom joined me on the excursion and we all got something accomplished in the big city.

Tom informed me that we have been friends for a long time, thirty three years to be exact. That is a long time. Jesus got a lot done in thirty three years, or so I am told. Got a lot of catching up to do.

Ocean Beach is like Telegraph Avenue with waves and more skin. Young hitchhikers with requisite dog and guitar, flower children of all vintage. Wayback machine but mellow, far superior community to Pacific or Mission Beach. We stopped off at the Black after we saw my friend Joan. Black is a headshop that has a really weird bookshelf, anarchist cookbook type stuff, books on how to be a successful junkie or tweaker, low brow art. No ring through the nose, no job at the Black. Definitely on their own frequency.

Afterwards we went to El Indio for lunch. It is a San Diego institution and I hadn't been there forever, it was pretty good.

We then visited Tom's mom at their ancestral digs near Morena.

Really nice lady, super sharp for eighty seven years young. I hope I look that good at seventy.

Tripped down to Market St. to pick up some supplies for Leslie at Farkas Displays. Place has some great manikins, one day I am going to get serious down there with a camera. Very good folks.

Tom used to live in Sherman Heights, a place littered with gorgeous restored Victorians and we went to see his old house, which recently sold for a small fortune. Phenomenal homes in his old block. Zipped back up to Fallbrook before traffic could kill us.

Donal Hord, Guardian of the Waters, 1939

Tom and I are both native born San Diegans, he at Mercy, me at Sharp. We swapped stories about Carino's, Chicken Pie Shop, all the old haunts. He didn't remember Azteca Taco in Point Loma, to my knowledge the first of its kind. But he is older than me and his memory probably not quite as sharp.

Next time we are going to climb the tower at the Museum of Man, now that it is open again after an eighty year slumber. Always fun when the rubes make it back to the big city.