I have a catalog of missed opportunities and minor failures. It sits waiting in my brain for those moments when I feel the need to ruminate or brood. Typically, this happens late at night, but I’ve been known to do it while taking a walk or simply sitting in the front room. Usually it involves regret, as in, why did I do that or not do that? It feels like it’s a good time to try and break that habit, because my long life is starting to come back and bite me.

More about aging. I think I’m going to approach this journey through my ninth decade as I would any of the moves we made as a child, or the changes I encountered as an adult. It’s an opportunity, a thing to be explored, embraced. Besides, I’ve never gone into any decade of my life thinking I knew what was waiting at the end. Why should this one be any different? Granted, the actuarial tables are against me, but why assume the mean?

I confess. I never thought much about my age. Never fretted over it. Never worried about what it meant when the calendar turned over a new page. I had a great party at fifty and another at 65, but life had other plans at 70 and 75. This year, however, is different. Assuming nothing happens between now and July, I’ll be 80. I think I’m going to lean into it.

Interesting work editing your own material. Although, it might be more precise to say I’m repackaging it. Editing will come later. At the moment, I’m working on what goes and what stays. I don’t suppose it hurts to talk about it. It’s not like I’m giving away any plot lines. It’s merely an annotated compilation of my already published writing on the subject of grief.

I drove to the store yesterday. The first time since last week and the start of the storm that I’ve been out of the house to do something other than casually walk around in the yard. A big patch of ice on the driveway gave me pause for the longest time. But as the day warmed yesterday, I felt safe enough to brave it, so off I went. I don’t recall being so timid, but I guess age does that to you. Besides, there was nothing compulsory going on, so why not stay home?

My two AI assistants are proving invaluable. My first book, The Long Goodbye, was published through Gatewood Press using Amazon (print and eBook). I wanted to see how much it would cost to publish my second book, Learning to Live, which is now in the works. In about 30 seconds I got two reports. There was a slight difference between them, but a second query cleared it up. I also wanted to explore alternatives. Again, the reports were clean and easy to use. Bottom line, I’m sticking with Gatewood Press and Amazon.

I’ve started work on my new book, Learning to Live. It’s about me navigating the murky waters of grief. It starts the day after my wife died and continues to this day. It’s a personal story because grief is a personal story. But the hope in publishing is that by telling my tales, a struggling reader might find a thought or an idea that proves useful, provides relief, gives hope, and says, you’re not alone.

I swung a Mattock Pick yesterday to bust up the root ball of a plant I was trying to remove. It didn’t take me long to realize these old limbs aren’t what they used to be. Brute force is no longer my forte especially for extended periods. That’s a slightly sad feeling. But that’s okay, at least I’m still trying. I’m just going to manage it in bursts. Whack it once or twice, then dig a little. Sometimes patience pays off. Besides, what’s the hurry?

Things will freeze this weekend. The forecast low for Saturday and Sunday is 13. That’s cold in anyone’s book. Rain chances are mixed. But there will be enough ice to give an old man pause when it comes to walking outside. I think I’ll get my hiking poles out for the extra support if I do need to get around. Mostly I think I’ll just stand on the porch and watch.

I find it deeply ironic that Indiana, a proverbial loser, won the National title in college football doing exactly what earned the Southern Methodist Mustangs the death penalty in 1987—paying players. My, how the times have changed. And I think it’s fair to say parity has come to college football courtesy of NIL and profit sharing, because even Vanderbilt is winning.

Finally, it feels like winter. The heavy cold has arrived. It feels good and is a nice way to scrub off the final memories of a hot summer. Of course, there was no rain with the recent front, which is unfortunate, because we could use the rain. But I’m tired of speaking of how the dryline has moved. This is simply our lot in life now. Dry days and water tables sacrificed to satisfy developers and irrigators.

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I strapped on a new set of strings and went to the open mic last night at the Villa at Gruene, hosted by my young friend Bo Brumble. It was a coolish evening, but the heaters were running and I had cup of black coffee to warm me up and help me focus. I played my three songs, then sat to visit with Bo and listen to the other musicians. It was a pleasant night with good company all around.

I had a full day yesterday. Got a good result from a doctor. Changed the oil in my new-to-me car. Bought a few groceries. Edited a few videos. Watched a package I sent to my son in Cypress go all the way to New Orleans as it made its way to him. Seems rather roundabout, but I cannot pretend I understand the mysteries of postal shipping. Nor do I understand most of life’s mysteries.

It’s interesting to see what people watch. I’ve been posting short video reels recently on Facebook, to help build my audience prior to the spring release of my new book. The reel shot behind the scenes of Mount Rushmore has been watched for more than seven hours. That’s a fifteen second reel. I guess it’s something not many people have seen. Not viral but interesting. And Gatewood Press has gained followers.

I was poking around in the attic and made a discovery. I found our coffee cup collection. Thirty cups in which I can read a short story of my life. There are cups from cities, states, countries, and places we visited. There are cups from my working life. Some of them even had desiccated bodies of scorpions in them because that’s what happens when you live in the country, in Texas.

There’s a cold wind blowing this morning. A front came through yesterday. There was no rain, however, which is a bit of a disappointment, but at least it now feels like January. There’s no telling how long it will last. I suppose I should pay more attention to the weather, but I think if something significant was on the way news of it would bubble up in my social media stream. Although, there’s a lot to be said for paying attention to the weather, especially in winter.

When I started this writing adventure, it was mostly me looking at the world around my feet and commenting on it. A slow casual walk through life. Turns out there is lots to see in the ordinary. Then the elephant arrived: my wife’s dementia. I tried writing around it, but it was too big to ignore as was my grief in the aftermath of her death in 2020. Even now, six years on it seems as fresh as yesterday.

I finally succumbed. I bought a paper calendar. It now hangs on the wall in my kitchen over my weekly whiteboard. I thought the latter would be enough to help me keep up, but I was wrong. I needed an easy way to see the month at-a-glance, the big picture. The role of the phone will be to send me reminders, and record dates on the fly.

On January second, I wrote about getting tangled up in the Meta/Facebook advertising tools. Basically, it was a note to myself that I needed to back up and make sure I had a better understanding of how the system worked. If ignorance is no excuse of the law, it’s really no excuse in business. But yesterday, I did a cursory check of my bank account and realized I was getting refunds from Meta. Here’s a quick thank you to whomever pulled that trigger. I feel less of a dunce.

I replay conversations in my head. Parse them right down to the phrase and single words. I’m looking for things I might have said or not said, things that might have given offense or not expressed my feelings appropriately. I’m also going over what other parties said, trying to make sure I heard what I thought I heard, because sometimes I hear what I want to hear.