It’s time to mow the tall grass on the back lots. In fact, I should have mowed it sooner, before it went to seed. Now it’s tall and brown, perfect fodder for fire. I need to knock it down, so that rain when it comes can help it begin to decompose and make its way back into the earth. And I want to expose the Bluebonnet seeds for next season. But mowing the tall grass is hot dusty work on a zero-turn mower. A tractor with a seat high above the fray would be better.

I have a nice flashlight that I can quickly shift from wide to narrow beam. I try to keep it handy for my nighttime forays into the yard at 3 a.m. looking for deer and varmints and anything else that might poke its head up. But I couldn’t find it last night, and I didn’t know why. It was a puzzle because there aren’t that many places where I leave it after my nighttime adventures. I went back to bed, a little sad.

Durn. An unexpected grayness has settled over me. I’m not sure what to make of it. As I said, it’s unexpected. I had what passes for a good night’s sleep. Most likely, it is a valley between the excitement of doing one thing and the coming of anticipation for the next. The existence of those twin peaks tends to make what comes between seem empty. Although, when I’m in a gray day it colors everything. So, it’s hard to tell. Sometimes it’s merely a day that sneaks up on me.

Fulfillment. My mower is back up and running. I replaced the flat idler pulley and installed a new belt. We’re not done yet. I still need to replace the bearings in one of the spindle assemblies. There’s a wobble and the blade cuts unevenly. I needed professional advice, however, before undertaking the task. I got it. And I think I can do it. I just need to take my time and use the air driven impact wrench.

When I built my workroom, I asked that all the locks be keyed to the same key. Then I forgot that request. Which explains why, ten or so years down the road, I stumbled upon a cup full of keys with only the vaguest idea as to what they might unlock. Then I remembered the workroom. So, yesterday I spent a good portion of the day testing all those keys and reworking seldom-used locks. I’m trying to get back into the habit of locking things up when I leave the house. Not something I like to do, but it’s the prudent thing to do.

It never ceases to amaze me how little I know, especially when it comes to digital technology, a field in which I assiduously have tried to keep up because I felt it was key to surviving in a changing business climate. I learned HTML, Basic, a large number of software packages, the Pick operating system, and anything else that would help further my education or my career. But this week I hit another void in my learning.

Spent most of Thursday driving around looking at the river. My river. The Pedernales. It runs through town, under highway 281. A powerful amount of rain fell west around Fredericksburg and gathered itself to run down the foothills of the Llano Uplift into the river. In Fredericksburg, the river crested at 34 feet. It spread out and lost steam as it got to slightly flatter ground. But it still rose to 25 feet in Johnson City.

On the occasion of my eightieth birthday yesterday I had one of those revelations that sometimes visits me and helps bring my life into sharper focus. In this case it had to do with friends and how I view them. Previously, I’ve seen my life as a journey across the landscape of time, picking up friends along the way and losing some too. There was always this idea of having left something behind.

I thought I was getting a new phone yesterday. I thought wrong. The phone was ordered in Houston. I was to pick it up at a local store just down the road. I arrived. It was there. The clerk scanned my ID and went to clicking on the computer. At the end, came the message to call home. He called. He talked. He handed me the phone. I talked. Then I was told I couldn’t have the phone, the transaction was flagged.

It may seem odd, but I’ve loved all the places I’ve ever lived. East to west, north to south, any place I’ve ever called home always brought something to the table. I imagine part of the reason for this is that I never heard my parents complain, although there is a chance I wasn’t listening. After all, for most of it, I was a child, just happy to be. The bottom line, however, is still the same. I remember my surroundings with fondness.

Independence Day. Alleluia. The day we threw off the yoke of British tyranny, and a bunch of guys prepared to be hung if it didn’t work out. Luckily, for them it did. We celebrate by popping off fireworks, so it will be noisy this evening. I might walk into town to see what the local folks have planned for the main event. I can see it from my yard, but it’s better close up.

It’s always the same. There is the injury. There is the acknowledgement. There is the recovery. Tuesday night my calf was screaming. Injured in my sudden retreat from the unexpected appearance of the red wasps, it wanted to bear no weight. The next morning it was tender, barely walkable, and I visited the clinic to ensure the damage was routine. This morning, what felt catastrophic on Tuesday, feels more or less normal. There is soreness, but I am ambulatory.

I believe my body has decided enough is enough. On the day I finish a course of meds for hip and shoulder injuries, I pull a calf muscle getting away from a wasp nest I accidentally disturb. The hip had me limping for the pain it fed into my lower back. Now I’m off to limp for the lower leg. I’d say it doesn’t seem fair, but I’m fairly certain fairness has little to do with it. It’s just my mind making promises my body can’t keep.

Chasing fame. It’s an odd passion. But it occurs to me that everything I’ve done in my life has been in service to that notion. From the first newspapers I sold as a child to Marines at 29 Palms through every job I’ve ever held since, I’ve either sold or helped to sell something. That’s what companies do. They want to be famous. Known. And they want people to give them money. Anyone working for them, in any capacity, helps to fill that mission.

There are times, when for no clear reason, I find myself plagued by something poking me in a finger or a toe, and I have no idea how it got there. It only hurts when I bump against it, and it takes real work to find the source of the irritation. Sometimes it’s easily removed with a pair of tweezers or a finger, and sometimes it just stays there to fester, harden, and eventually go away. I think there are a lot of spiritual things like that. Little irritations that you discover by accident when you bump into them. They’re hard to spot and harder to remove and cause that little bit of annoying trouble that reminds you the problem is there, maybe to be fixed, maybe not.

Yesterday I wrote about driving slow through the night, but I’ve even started driving slow through the day. It takes an effort, however, because it feels as though I’m hardwired for finding the quickest way. But lately, I’ve opted for the back roads and the side roads. The slow roads, the ones with twists and turns. The ones with things to see.

Drove home in the dark last night from a musical event. Part of the trip was down a country road. Narrow. Winding. Twisty. Full of deer. I was going slow. I had the windows down, too. The woods pressed in around me. I could hear the cicadas, crickets, and frogs singing their nighttime melodies. It would stop as I drove through pasture, start again in the woods.

The weather feels uneasy these days as though it is having a hard time making up its mind about what it wants to do. Should it rain? Should it shine? What? How about a strong wind? Maybe a good calm? We’re having hot days, but there’s so much moisture in the ground it hardly feels like summer at all, and its nearly July. By now we should be baking. Instead, we have a sauna.

Father’s Day. My day. Me as a member of the father class. I like being a father. I mostly liked coaching. I loved cheering. And I read to them every night. I was a good diaper changer, I knew how to feed, and I could pat babies to sleep. I could even handle the kids while my wife got alone time. I was hit or miss as a disciplinarian, and I could have used a touch more calmness.

A friend recently asked what I had planned for the week, and I said, “Nothing.” Except I have one or two things planned, but they’re things to which I’ve been invited. Planning implies something I’ve set up, and the legit answer these days, more often than not, is nothing. I’ve spent most of my life having to be somewhere and do something, mostly going to and from work, so the idea of meandering a through a day, a week, and even a month, is appealing.