It was a good Father's Day. I got calls from the two children far away, and had a great evening talk and walk with my son next door. We looked at plants, talked about trees, and discussed the shape of gardens. In the afternoon I watched the US Open. The only man to shoot under par won it, and he had to do it with a 64 foot putt on the final hole in the rain. It was wonderful to watch.

There was a time when a nine a.m. appointment would have hardly deterred me from my daily writing. But that time is long past. I am now perfectly content to let the writing slide for a day or even two. It happened yesterday. My back is wonky and I needed my massage therapist to lay hands upon me. The appointment was at 9 a.m. So, I drank my coffee, tidied up the bedroom, and made the drive. No writing was done. This morning there is still soreness, but I am much improved and a larger disaster averted.

Today is June 6. The Anniversary of D-Day and it’s odd to think that today, in the 21st century, 81 years later, it’s probably better remembered as a scene in the movie Saving Private Ryan than it is as a real scene from the lives of mothers and fathers who actually lived through it or fought and died in it. Of course, that feels pretty normal since the same thing happened with the Civil War and Gone with the Wind. Memories fade, wounds heal, and movies need scripts.

Memory is a tricky thing. I’m fairly certain I once owned a book titled The Music of the Spheres. I bought it for some English Lit class. I think. Heck, that was in the 70s. So, it’s likely my memory is faulty, but I still have most of my English Lit books because, well, I like books. But a quick search of my library was to no avail. So, it’s likely the little paperback disappeared somewhere in one of the moves.

Wow. I just had a moment. Prepared my coffee. Hit brew. Stood looking out the window. Realized there was no cup. Whoops! Inexplicable madness? Nope. Distracted. I realized I’d made an error setting up a product in my storefront, and each cup ordered was costing me money. Not a ton, but enough. I’m not looking to become an oligarch with these mugs, I just want to publish a book. I’ve been busy this morning making corrections.

I’m in an odd spot. I write this blog almost every day. And it’s free. And I feel like I know almost all of my readers, and I consider them to be my friends. This happened because the first posts were basically Facebook posts. Then Facebook decided to add a blog type feature, and I started using it. Then they cancelled it, and I moved to an independent website, GatewoodPress.com, set up a business page on Facebook, and voila, the blog continued to appear on Facebook. I did this to facilitate the publication of my book in 2021, The Caregiver’s Tales: The Long Goodbye, about my wife’s dementia.

The stage lights have dimmed. The building is empty. The show is over. My tour is done. It was fun. It started in Austin and ended in New Braunfels. Two stops. Two stages. Two days. There were no trucks, no crew, no dancers. It was just me and my guitar and my kit bag. I sang my songs to mostly appreciative audiences. It should be noted there were other people on the bill at every stop, so I wasn’t ever close to headlining. Still, there I was. On tour.

The brush pile is gone, hauled away in a big sixteen foot trailer with four sides. A lone man with a skid-steer did the job. He also hauled away some old pallets, the skeletal remains of mulch pits from the days when we gardened in that area. And he also took the old landscape cloth I dug up last week in the front yard. Then he tidied up the grounds before leaving. It’s nice to have that area cleaned. Now I have to figure out a plan for going forward because brush is inevitable and I know more will come.

Anatomy of rain on a metal roof. I’ve had two styles of metal roof while living in the Hill Country. My first roof was screw-down panels, a fairly typical old style roof. It was replaced recently by a standing seam roof with no exposed screws. Falling rain sounds essentially the same on both styles, a lovely patter of falling water on tin. The difference slips in when the rain is soft and the water gathers on the roof before sliding to the ground.

Yesterday was a day where all the tumblers fell into place, and I unlocked a little joy. I found a letter I needed in my junk email. The city approved my replat. I scheduled my new HVAC service. I found a guy to remove my brush pile, which is taller than me and has more than brush in it, and looked scary to burn. And I watched a group of starlings bathe in my bird bath. To top it all off I went to bed at 9:15 last night and didn’t wake up until 5:30 this morning, which counts as a full night of sleep in my book.

Our dining room table has been in the family for more than 45 years. We bought it for our second home at an unfinished furniture store, a good young couple project with more time than money. It’s oak, round, with two leaves and six chairs. Just right for a family of five with lots of aunts, uncles, and friends close at hand. The chairs are scarred by dogs, kids, loads of family dinners, and countless holiday gatherings. It has lived in four homes.

Spent a great deal of time outside yesterday, and I believe I’m paying the coughing price this morning. The winds were up and so was the dust but I drove the ball well and we couldn’t quit our first round of golf this year for a little wind and dust. So, we plodded on and now my nose is stuffy and I’ve got a bit of a cough, plus I’m sore again, but I’ve decided that is simply the price of living past my best-used-by date, the other is attributed to the dust.

I caught a break yesterday, another in a long string of caught breaks that pretty much define my life. This time it was small, dental, but it was still a break that went my way. I had a cavity on a tooth with a crown. It could have required another crown, or a root canal, or even an implant. But all it required was for me to keep my mouth open while the dentist and his assistant worked. When they finished the cavity was filled and I was on my way. I’ll need a new crown at some point, but not today. And just like that I went from a big cost to a little cost.

Here we are. The last day of 2024. The year started with me fretting about the need for surgery, A big surgery by most measures to repair an abdominal aortic aneurysm. Finally deciding on the date, then having the surgery mid-March. Seven stents fixed all the broken bits. In July, I was told everything looked good, and they’d see me next year. That’s half a year gone, while interspersed with thoughts of mortality..

I’m back. Took some time off for Christmas and healing. The latter was needed because a small bug attacked me the day after Christmas. It laid me low, and my daughter, and now my son-in-law. I feel nearly healed today. I can breathe again, and my cough is only occasional. It's weird being sick away from home but I’m finding my way.

The big trip is off to a good start. Our small army of a family hit DC yesterday and immediately set off in multiple directions to see multiple sites. We have lots of first time visitors to our nation's capital and they all had things they wanted to see–The Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Museum of US History, the Mall, the Capital, the monuments. We rode the Metro like veterans, bundled up against the cold, ate dinner together, and had a boys and girls night out. It was glorious.

It’s a clear, cold morning. The sort of morning that makes me wish for a fire. But my fireplace doesn’t draw. A construction oversight left us with a firebox that is too small. My bad.

If life consists of small victories, then I achieved one yesterday. A victory so small as to go unnoticed by anyone but me, and you, now that I’m telling the tale.

I like going into my back lots at night and looking at the stars. It’s dark in the lots and we’re still country enough that light pollution is at a minimum. So, the night sky is starlit. I also like checking in on my little porch bird, huddled up at the top of its pole, sound asleep.