June 6. D-Day. It’s about 7 a.m. as I write this. In Normandy France it’s 1:58 p.m. On D-Day 1944, it would be about seven hours into the landings on the six mile stretch called Omaha Beach.

It’s not Marat sitting in his bath with a towel on his head, but I’m writing in bed this morning because little ones are asleep on the couches, and they have yet to stir.

It’s a late start today. Went to a house concert last night. There was a rain delay. I got home late, for me. The alarm went off at six, but I ignored it. Now here I am.

About ten years ago, I built two garden plots on the back lots. I brought in a pallet of limestone blocks to use as the borders. I did the work by hand. I was a younger man.

I’ve heard tell it’s the little things that count. I tend to agree with that assessment. In life and love, I’ve had it prove out. And sometimes I think it’s a good way to measure the advance of civilization.

Again, the fury of the storm raged in the sky around me last night, but little came of it. Once, late, there was a lightning flash that seemed close by, but the rumble of thunder gave it away, coming late and slow.

Spent the day yesterday doing something I could easily do every day. Read a book and listened to music. But not just any music. I started going through the box of vinyl I bought for $10 at a garage sale. It’s 90% classical.

Sometimes, things just click and go your way. The other day I thought my money clip lost. I checked pockets. I checked dressers. I checked tables. Time passed. Then it came to me. A thought. I went to the car. Opened the center console. There it was.

I’m halfway to healing. My hand is on the mend. It’s been a week. I took my last antibiotic this morning. The squamous cell carcinoma is gone. In another week I’ll get the stitches out.

It’s done. Our day of music is in the books. We set up the gear beneath the shelter of a large outdoor pavilion, but pounding rain on a metal roof plays to a louder beat than even the most well amplified guitar.

Two days in on my hand surgery and I’m feeling a little down, mainly kicking myself for not doing it sooner, made worse by having to do everything left-handed.

The year of the medical procedure continues. Skin surgery. I had a squamous cell carcinoma removed from the back of my right hand yesterday.

For the longest time I had two easy chairs sitting side by side facing the TV. It was how we organized the living room when we moved into our new home.

Good morning. The house is quiet. The kids are all asleep. Dad should still be asleep as well, but sunlit windows tell dads brain the day has started and what in the world are you doing in bed.

Went to a garage sale yesterday. My daughter came home from work with the kids and off we went. It was just a short walk down the street.

I’m floating. Doing duty in Houston this weekend. Came in for my regular dental appointment staying to be with the grand-kids. I’m also going to get my cracked windshield replaced. This is the second time in two years.

Take note. I’ve started my Christmas shopping. It began at Trade Days, when I realized I had found a goldmine of fine, odd gifts.

Yesterday, in my blog, I mentioned that we all worked for giant social media companies for free, generating streams of data they then use to sell us stuff.

And the week begins, although it really started yesterday, because Sunday is the first day of the week. But most of us these days think of weeks in terms of work, and this is the first workday.

Durn. Where there should have been a house full of sleeping children, there is only a house with a sleeping old man. And he’s obviously not sleeping since he’s typing this.