Well, I’m a new grandpa. My daughter had a son yesterday. In days gone by my wife would have been there to help, but she’s gone. So, the job fell to her sister. There’s not much a dad can do in this situation, because it’s all about the experience of childbearing. Moms do it, not the dads. The girl needs a female compatriot, and she has one. My wife’s sister had two children of her own.

I saw a bird. Pyrrhuloxia. Actually, two. They flew from bush to bush right in front of me. They were too fast for me and my camera, but I saw them clear as day and so did my friends. I last spotted one at Falcon Lake State Park in 1987. The recent sighting was just outside Persidio. I guess I could have found one sooner, but I’m a birder in the same way as I’m a geologist or a plant lover or a dabbler in physics. Incidental. I like to know what I’m seeing or reading, so I try to figure it out.

On my most recent trip to Big Bend, we drove in to Presidio to look around and eat lunch. A big sign on El Patio, where we dined, welcomed the transmigrantes. At first, I thought it was all about the truckers hauling goods into the US from factories in Mexico, or vice versa, but the dictionary definition says the phrase describes people hauling used goods from the US to Latin America. The key word there is used goods and the destination isn’t Mexico.

I like hiking. It’s where my body tells my mind, “Look, I’ve got this. You’re just along for the ride, head boy. Take a break. Look around.” So, I do. As I trudge along, I watch the trail, the plants, the mountains, the sky, the hikers ahead. It’s one foot in front of the other. A walk. A long walk. A slow walk.

Big Bend drives me to silence. All I want to do, when I’m there, is to look at the landscapes as they stretch out around me and confront the enormity of time and think about all the lifetimes it took to get from there to here. After all, it’s a land that once sat at the bottom of a sea that first formed 100 million years ago, then became pocked marked with raging volcanoes 40 million years ago, then went quiet to let wind, rivers, and rain carve the landscape into its present form, one grain of sand at a time. It’s a lovely, slow-moving panorama.

My Mexican Plum is full of blooms, for the first time ever. We had a few single blooms last year. But this year is the real deal. There are flowers everywhere, from bottom to top. I’d like to think it’s happening because I took out one of the Turks Caps to give the tree more breathing room, but it’s more likely the tree has finally matured into it fruit bearing years.

To set the stage, I wear gloves when I work. Depending on the type of work I have three pair. Yesterday, to mow, I wore my thinnest, they come almost to my elbow, covering my forearm from sun and brush. At one point, something called me inside. While there, I saw I had a text. I removed one glove, answered the text, did something else in the house and something else again. When finished, I went to put on my glove. It was gone.

I took a small break yesterday and went to play golf with my brother. I shot 91 on a 5,000-yard course, which seems a good score for my age. The key takeaway for me is that I felt as though I hit a lot of good shots, putted well, and managed to recover my form after a string of bad holes. A good day, all in all. Breaking ninety was within my grasp.

I’ve sunk into my medieval self, the world of two sleeps, as described by historian Roger Ekrich in his book At Day’s Close: Night in Times Past. I wake at three, bounce around a bit and go back to sleep. I have to be careful though, sometimes I let the waking get away from me, and simply stay up. But usually, sleep overtakes me and I succumb. Of course, it helps I’m no longer driven by the clock and work. I can sleep until I wake, which is why I’ve mostly given up on my alarm.

My upright rosemary is blooming. That’s a first. I guess it needed time to acclimate to its new home. The are also green buds on three small trees, the persimmon, the Mexican plum, and the sandpaper tree. And the mealy sage a friend gave me last year is coming up from their roots. Lots of growth activity in the gardens and the grounds. At some point next month, I’ll have to get busy myself. But I have a trip coming up, and my resources are dedicated.

It’s odd the things that bring me pleasure these days. Yesterday I completed the restoration of the three lights that adorn our dog run walls. They were bought in the rush of pleasure that comes with decorating a new home. They fell victim to my late wife’s long disease and grief. Bulbs died and broke and the lights went dim. The will to repair was broken as well. For years, I mostly sighed when I looked at the dark lights.

It seems spring is coming to the garden. It might be a tad early. It’s only February. But the bulbs are popping up, the Coral Sage is sprouting, and the grass is green. If I had been a more diligent steward I might have noted these changes through the years, then I could speak with confidence of the early or lateness of things. Unfortunately, all I can do now is speak in generalities.

I voted. Did my civic duty. Although this is just us picking our team. Still voting is a thing I’ve cherished since I cast my first ballot in 1968. I was on active duty in Quantico, Virginia. Mailed my ballot back home. I really pondered over that vote, weighed the pros and cons before making my decision. It felt momentous. It made me feel like an adult.

I love context. And I had a good example of it this morning. I was feeling overwhelmed by the world and wished I could enjoy the bliss of ignorance. Then I wondered about the genesis of the words and looked it up. There was Thomas Gray’s poem, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College, and right at the end I read this: “…where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.”  It’s a poem on the innocence of youth, and they’re ignorant of what’s to come. I don’t believe Gray intended them as words to live by.

I’m here to testify that a shower head soaked in a solution of citric acid will come clean. All it took was time, hot water and a teaspoon of the main ingredient, which can also be used in canning. Interesting. Household ingredients. I’m adding it to my official house cleaning regimen. Another tool to combat hard water. And now that you have my household tip for the day, I don’t have much else to say.

Walked out onto the porch last night and took a big drink of the dark sky from the big dipper hanging low in the east. I remember as a child finding great pleasure in being able to spot the dipper and its cousin, the little dipper. Then later in life Orion’s belt became the night sky feature with which I was most familiar. Why it drew my eye, I have no idea. All I know is that last night I was happy to be reminded of my childhood.

What I did this weekend. Watched a sunset. Watched it rain. Listened to music. Visited with friends. Thought about my two boys having a weekend together. Slept late. Fed the cats. Made plans. Talked about the missing. Talked about the living. Drove a back road. Simple things. The pleasures of life.

It’s fun to have company, especially when it’s a child, and he brings his guitars, and he helps with a plumbing project because that’s fun, too. So, yesterday evening I managed to get a new faucet installed in the guest bathroom, troubleshoot a toilet issue, learn three new chords, and have a pizza and beer. And speaking of children, earlier in the day I got a call from my daughter who moaned about missing out on the music.

I’m still popular in China, although I have no idea why. I probably could do something about it, but what would be the point. So, far they mostly appear to be reading my blog. I’ve detected no attempts to hack the site, although maybe it’s already done and these hits are simply a means for covering their tracks. If they’re bots, they sure are taking their time, which would seem to defeat the purpose of a bot and why so many. And what are they doing with the data?

I feel fairly centered these days and satisfied, too. Although, it gives me pause sometimes to write about it, because I know I’m running in a universe of people who are reasonably well off, and in some cases better than that. So, I can understand why someone with a harder life might say, of course you’re satisfied. Who wouldn’t be? And I would take their point.