Played a song yesterday for friends of longstanding at the celebration of their fiftieth wedding anniversary. There was a smallish crowd of close friends and family, so I got to play totally acoustic, sitting among the guests. As usual, I remember only the mistakes I made, but most everyone seemed happy with the result. So, I’m happy. And now I’m part of another good memory of dear friends, and that feels good, too.

At some point in my life, I became nearly obsessed with knowing what I see. I suspect it started with birds, and I can pinpoint that date to 1983. Then it was plants. Followed by rocks and mountains, much later in life. That semi-obsession accounts for my bird, plant, and geology books. I’m no ornithologist, botanist, or geologist by any stretch, but I’ve got just enough info banging around in my head that I stand a fairly good chance these days of knowing what I see.

I was speaking with a friend recently about the flooding in Kerr County along the Guadalupe, specifically about the county's inability to get an early warning system installed and why. My story was answered with, "I didn't know that." It stopped the discussion and got me thinking about how we get our news these days.

There’s a scene in the movie Bridge of Spies when the attorney James Donovan, played by Tom Hanks, says during a prison interview to the spy, Rudolf Abel (played by Mark Rylance), that Abel doesn’t seem very upset or concerned that he’s facing the death penalty. Rylance looks at Hanks and says softly, “Would it help?” Since seeing that, I've asked myself that question whenever faced with what otherwise might seem to be an upsetting situation. Getting upset. Would it help?

I think you’re supposed to write like no one is looking. And that worked for a long while, until I realized people were looking. And that was okay, until I started to meet the people who were looking. Then I came to understand that while they were my audience, I knew they had opinions about other things, and I began to worry I might say something to offend them, because every once in a while, I wanted to write about something other than my yard.

It’s hard to believe I could take a vacation while in retirement, but that’s exactly how my most recent trip felt, like a vacation. It was getting away from the mundane, the pattern of an ordinary life. While I’m at home, basically, I’m a maintenance man. I clean. I cook. I tend the yard. I tend the pool. I tend my car. I keep things going. It’s pretty much the life I’ve always led. There’s not as many plates to spin, but that’s still my job.

Well, the long trip is over and it was fun. But it’s nice being home in the comfort of one's own bed. I had a long day yesterday. My flight was at 5:30, so I was up at three a.m. to get to the airport on time. But the beauty of early morning travel is the lightness of the crowds. Combine that with a small regional airport and it was smooth sailing. Of course, I flew east to west which meant by 8:30 last night I was exhausted and fell into bed without any qualms.

The house is quiet. The woods are quiet. Everyone is asleep and there’s a heavy fog on the lake. All will be gone with the sun. The quiet and the fog. The woods will stir, the house will stir and the day which has already begun will truly come to life. Bird song, kid song, wind in the leaves. It’s a nice final morning for my week in the woods.

The far shore of the lake is shrouded in a dense fog this morning, and there’s no birdsong to speak of, eerie. But fitting, given that we visited the home of Stephen King yesterday in Bangor, Maine. We must have stopped by just long enough for his spirit to catch our scent and hear that I’ve never read one of his books. I promised my traveling companions I’d remedy that oversight, so this morning’s fog is probably only a reminder.

When you sleep with the windows open and no shades drawn, morning comes right into the room as soon as it’s ready. The day starts with little regard for a clock. It’s light and time to get busy. The crows seem to wake up first then come the little songbirds followed by me, one of the people. The kids, of course, have no idea what’s going on, partly because they stayed up half the night and partly because they’re kids and more a part of nature than any adult, and like little bears, they’re going to sleep.

It’s a drizzly, rainy morning here in central Texas which is good news if you’re a gardener, not so much if you’re a Fourth of July party planner. I’ll take the rain. At this stage of my life Fourth of July fireworks are more of a nuisance than anything else, and that was especially the case when I lived in Houston, because there was always the neighbor who liked making noise. Although if the weather improves, I might wander over to the courthouse for tonight's big show just to say I did.

It’s a good feeling to sleep through to the alarm. It’s a good feeling to roll over with no pain because your DO popped your hips into alignment yesterday. It’s a good feeling to lie in bed with today’s words huddled in your brain like chickens ready to escape the coop. It’s a good feeling to sit then stand and not have the muscles in your back feel tight as knotted ropes. It’s a good feeling to know you’ll get a massage today, that will chase away the residual soreness.

We have a bowl of broken glass, which is an odd thing to say because my wife has been dead for nearly five years. But old habits are hard to break and I almost always think in the plural, especially when it comes to things around the house. But back to the bowl, because saying you have one full of broken glass might also be an odd thing to say. But I’ve got one and it’s full.

Ah, the mysteries of life. One day your hdmi cable works. The next day it doesn’t. Is it the port on the computer? Or the port on the monitor. Is it the cable? You check the device manager. Nothing. You restart the computer. Nothing. You turn off the computer. Completely. Turn it back on. Voila. Everything works. No one will ever be able to explain why it stopped working. It just did. Maybe a little electron got caught going where it shouldn’t. Maybe two instructions got stuck in a digital doorway.

Maybe it’s just that time of my life, but bleakness feels omnipresent and the turmoil of the world feels as though it’s sitting at my backdoor. It’s probably my fault. I like technology and the algorithms know my desires. A deadly combination, I’m sure. Most days I can make my way to the light, but in a world where everyone wants your attention, sometimes it’s hard to ignore the noise.

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.

Woke up this morning to a house full of thrown breakers which opens up a range of technical mysteries I am ill prepared to address. I can only assume some strange slug of power came down the line last night as I slept. All the breakers are back in place and nothing seems amiss so it’s unlikely I’ll find a dead raccoon in the attic although I suppose I should walk around and look.

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.

I had a wandering day yesterday. Drove to Luckenbach. Listened to music. Drove to Fredericksburg. Listened to music. At both places I ran into friends. We talked, shared stories, and drank a beverage or two. It was a warm day, but in the shade with a breeze, it felt nice to be outside amongst the living. There was even talk of plans, of things to do, and places to go. It was the sort of day that gave you hope there would be other days like it to come.