I'm finally falling back into the routine of home. It seems to have taken much longer than I expected. Apart from post-trip fatigue, other unusual events have thrown me off course: jury-duty, of course (now, thankfully, in the past); accomodating myself to substantially more free time now that I've reduced my ambitions for the website, and the complete lack of things to do at work.

I frequently feel that just dealing with household issues takes up an enormous amount of time. Is it just me? Since coming back, I've had to:

• Take my car in to get the brakes redone.
• Buy a new cell-phone (okay, that one was my fault since I dropped my old cell-phone down the toilet just before going off on my trip)
• Fiddle around with my VCR which now, suddenly, doesn't seem to record properly.
• Decide whether to buy a new digital camera or not.
• Try to find a new apartment-cleaning service.
• And so on ad infin-boring-item.

You'd be completely correct in saying that I bring such complexity down on myself. But, in actuality, I think my living situation is a lot less complex than most. I don't own my own house, I have no roommates or family-members to deal with, and I'm not particularly acquisitive - I don't buy stuff just for the sake of it.

Maybe I'm just unlucky. You wouldn't believe, for example, what I've been through recently with "The Clean Team", the company that cleans my apartment. They came the very day before I flew to England; when I came home from work that night, I wanted to watch something I'd recorded that day (yes, I'm still watching "The Waltons" daily:), but I discovered that my VCR was empty. For a moment, I thought that I'd somehow forgotten to put a tape in. But when I searched through my tapes, I found that the one tape I really care about was also missing. The only possible conclusion was that the cleaning people had taken it, how ever unlikely that seemed.

While I was in Europe, I got Brett to follow up with them, and he got one of the cleaning people to shamefacedly admit that he'd tried to watch some of my tapes while he was in my apartment; but he insisted that he hadn't taken any away with him. I couldn't accept this, so, when I got back, I called The Clean Team, and asked them to pass on a message to the kid who'd tampered with my VCR that if he returned the missing tape in the mail, I'd take no further action.

Yesterday, a VCR tape arrived in the mail, with a scribbled note of apology. But it was not the one I cared about - he must have taken two tapes! Jeez - what a pain in the ass!

Household worries aside, I've been relishing the extra free-time I've gained through cutting back on the website. For one thing, I've started to assemble material for a novel. I don't know if I'll ever write a decent novel, but I'm all fired up with ideas right now.

As part of the preparation, I've been reading a diary I kept during my last year of college and first year of graduate school - a diary I'd misplaced for a few years before I found it at the bottom of a box during my recent move. I spent all day Monday reading it, and it's amazing what memories it brought back. I've often, for example, thought with fondness about my old roommate Ricardo, one of the first persons I came out to back in the late eighties. But I'd totally wiped from my memory, apparently, how jealous I used to be of his other friends. I guess I'd forgotten how intensely I used to need his friendship. I can't help but wonder, now, what other memories I've revised in my mind to make them more palatable for later consumption.

My diary also included a few stories that I wrote at that time back in college, such as a twenty-page biography of my childhood. There too were many events and feelings that I'd now forgotten about. But all of this thought about my earlier years has dredged up so much "stuff" that I've been sleeping poorly, and having chaotic dreams that I, of course, don't remember when I wake up. Maybe if I could remember my dreams, it would make great material for a fantasy novel!

A lot of the more intense material was connected with my brief period as a born-again Christian, which lasted about a year and a half while I was in college. I'd forgotten just how deeply I used to feel love for this - for want of a better term - Jesus construct. Reading my diary, I remembered one Christmas at the evening service at my church (the famous All Souls, at the head of Regent Street), where the choir and orchestra, conducted by Noel Tredinnick, played the most beautiful version of Silent Night. I vividly remember, even now, the humble awe I felt that night.

But music always has the power to conjure and intensify emotions. Just the other day, listening to the opening movement of Mahler's 9th Symphony, I felt emotions not too disimilar from those I felt at All Souls that day, despite that I don't even believe in God now. In this latter case, the feelings came from the unabashed, unrestrained potential for power in the music; potential that Mahler nevertheless pulled back on to create music that spoke of a gentle, caring love and a quiet joy in life. I guess, now I come to think of it, it's really only orchestral music that can communicate such complex, layered feelings - words don't cut it.

Alright, quit rambling Keith - you're getting far afield of where you started out here today!

I've been taking my new camera out during the rare clear evenings, putting it through its paces. On the whole, I like its flexibility, and its power. But I can't say that, resolution apart, the picture quality is as good as the Kodak 260 that died on me during my Summer trip. And the menus and controls are not at all obvious - I have to take the manual with me whenever I'm using the camera, and spend a few minutes consulting it if I want to do something out of the ordinary.

I'm going to show you some of the better shots that have come out of my recent efforts. All of them were taken either within a few blocks of my apartment, or in my apartment itself.

Dusk on a foggy evening from my balcony. To the right, a lone freighter passes through the one lingering shaft of sunlight.

Late evening sun on the lawns in front of the Embarcadero Center

They've been completely rebuilding the Embarcadero over the last few years, ever since taking down the old Embarcadero Freeway in the early nineties. Most of the work is nearing completion, and, right after I got back from Europe, I noticed that they'd finished the big pedestrian plaza at the end of Market Street, with its two strange pedestal-monuments. They look like massive, alien communication towers - maybe they are!

Often overlooked in San Francisco, is the beauty of the Bay Bridge. Here you can only see part of it, its steel-painted structure reflecting the low, slanting, evening sun. That's me on the right, staring out at a large container ship passing under the bridge on its way out from the Port of Oakland.

There's a little pedestrian plaza a few blocks further North from Market Street which has been claimed by teenage skate-boarders. They're there practically from dawn to dusk. I remember early one golden, cool morning weeks ago when I opened the curtains and noticed, far below, a single blonde boy on a skateboard in the plaza, just wearing jeans. I turned my telescope on him, and watched transfixed as he practised the same move over and over again. Before each effort, he'd pause for long moments to get his breath, and the light would shine full on him as he stood, panting, one foot raised on his skateboard, and one hand absently massaging his chest. There was something very touching about his youth and intensity, practising all alone so early in the morning.

Well, last night, when I took this photo, there weren't any cute shirtless teenagers to photograph, but I did persuade one latino boy to skate for me. He didn't speak a word of english, and you'd laugh at my efforts to describe to him what I wanted him to do. Particularly when, after two shots, my batteries died and I tried to explain it to him. He was very engaging, though, and gave me the sweetest smile when I showed him the one decent resulting photo on the monitor on the back of my camera.

The fog rolls in after sunset last night, just about ready to obscure the bay.