We are prepared for dinner at 1pm today. I think. Hee is the Irish poem that Annabelle and I selected:
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
WB Yeats
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
The green light on the back of your Apple Watch is part of its heart‑rate sensor—it uses green LEDs to measure your pulse through a method called photoplethysmography. These lights turn on automatically whenever your watch is checking your heart rate, whether during workouts, background readings, or certain health features.
Sunday, March 1, 12:11 AM
Update: I'm back upstairs in my apartment after yet another alarm, some sixteen hours later. We've had about twenty. I lost count when, somewhere around number seventeen, we had several in such close succession that I wasn't sure whether to count them as one or more.
The next to last one had the biggest booms that I've heard during the wars so far. A building in Tel Aviv took a direct hit. Media are showing an utterly destroyed building burning. Of course, they aren't saying exactly where it was.
I headed down the stairs to the shelter from my third-floor apartment the first few times, until my knees informed me that they weren't in a mood to do that again. I've been taking the elevator since then.
People in the shelters are tired, but in a generally upbeat mood. We've all been through this before, enough times that we can get down there quickly.
The shelter also serves the neighborhood. There are several new dogs coming in with their families. Each growls when others enter. One young girl repeatedly swings a sort of mermaid Barbie doll around by its hair, lets it fly in an unpredictable direction, then crawls across the floor to retrieve it. Her brother slithers between the legs of chairs as if going through a tunnel.
We've been ordered to stay in the shelters each time until we hear the All Clear announcements. Those rarely happen. People gradually wander out. Most, but not all, of the time, we have time to get back to our apartments before the next alarm sounds.
It's just past midnight now. I hope to get some sleep tonight, but I'll be ready to head downstairs again if needed.
—
Monday, March 2, 12:01 AM
The sirens continue, just about once every two hours, between 8 PM and 2 PM. Residents and neighbors tromp down to the shelter each time. While, in theory, anyone can sit anywhere, people keep landing in the same seats. I choose a white chair directly across from the entrance.
At around 11 PM, I hear the biggest booms ever. Later, I hear that an apartment block in Tel Aviv was hit.
