I'm still up and dressed when the day's first alarm sounds at about 1:30 AM. Only five people get to the shelter before me, but it eventually fills up.

There's another alarm at about 10 AM. Once again, there's an exercise class in session. The seats are in even rows. I sit in one and try to join in, but immediately find a problem. The seats are pretty close together. Compared to most people in the House, I'm tall, with long arms. The exercise at that moment has people twisting at the waist with arms extended. I can't do that without smacking the people behind and beside me.

When I go to get my blood sugar checked in the afternoon, the nurses' office is gone. A sign on the door says that it has moved down the hall. I'm surprised -- it was up and running in the morning.

I go to where the new office is supposed to be. I don't see it. The one room with an open door looks generic, without much medical stuff.

I call out, "Hello?" I hear a nurse's voice call out, "Yes, I'm right here." I don't see anyone. The voice bounces around the square stone space that connects the offices, so I can't tell where it's coming from.

The voice sounds out again. "I see you. Come in through the open door."

I do. The nurse is near the back of the small office, invisible from outside it.

I suggest that there should be a sign on the door. She says that there is, and steps out to show me.

The problem: the sign in on the outside of the door. When the door is open, the sign is up against a wall, hidden from view.

She gets another identical sign from the desk and tapes it to the inside of the door. That's better, but only if you're standing right next to it. The office is set back a bit, in a nook in the wall, so it's invisible from all other angles.

There are advantages to the new location: it's closer to the main doors, the event space, and a shelter (not the one that I use -- the House has two, at either end of the building). Some things need to be set up yet, both within the office and outside of it, but it's only been there for half a day. So far, once people find it, it's working pretty well.

The news says that fragments from a missile fell perilously close to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher today. That's not something that anyone would want to hit, intentionally or not. But with their cluster bombs, the Iranians can only predict where their rockets are going to fall to within about a five-mile radius -- assuming that they don't get shot down first. One landed near the Western Wall and Al-Aqsa a few days ago. As Harvey Fierstein said, in different circumstances, "This was no whoops."

One of my favorite sonic memories is from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The interior of the church, as I recall, has several stories of balconies looking down on a prayer space on the ground floor. Some forty years ago, I was up in the highest balcony. A single priest was down at the bottom, chanting, just loudly enough that his voice reverberated within the space. I couldn't make out the words, but the notes swirled around, the various pitches forming ever-changing chords as his voice moved among them. It was glorious.

We've had two alarms since I started writing this, at about 9 PM and at a quarter after 10. It's past midnight now. I'm still in my daytime clothes. I may be able to change into sleepwear tonight. I'm not sure, though, whether I should.