I spent a great weekend with the young grandkids in Houston. We sat on the couch. We cuddled. We talked. We watched TV. We went for long bike rides in the neighborhood.

Got out the old push mower and mowed a bit yesterday, then took a nice long walk over the hills and dales of our little town. Clocked in at a little over an hour for 3.32 miles. Gained about 135 feet of elevation.

There’s frost on the ground and a chill in the air, but the temperature will rise into the seventies today. Spring might be on the way. I think I’ll walk around and inventory the bluebonnets.

I am home. A long road trip is in the books. Of course, for road warriors on active duty, that is, not retired, this is standard fair. And I sympathize.

Stood on the banks of the Rio Grande this morning. It is frozen nearly to the middle. The heavy grass crunched beneath my feet. I’m in Alamosa close to the river’s headwaters.

Bought a leather jacket on Thursday. It cost $10. It made me feel like a million. Found it at a thrift store in Alamosa. I saw it on the rack. Slipped it on in impulse.

I admit it. I have a bit of brain fog this morning. It’s a combination of long days and vino, or whiskey, or beer. Take your pick. And standing, and sitting, and listening to music.

Last year on my first trip to Red River and the Songwriter’s festival, we passed through San Luis, the oldest town in Colorado. The Church of the Station of the Cross was pointed out to me.

The sun is rising over the San Luis Valley. An owl just drifted off from its perch on the house to hunt. The sun is rising over the distant mountains. We are on the third day of our journey.

Started our trip at 7 a.m. yesterday in Gruene. Finished it yesterday at 11 p.m. Mountain Time in Santa Fe. We were running from weather. It caught us outside Junction.

We’re here. Gruene. We want to be there. Red River New Mexico. We are gathered together in the name of music. Bags are packed. We’re ready to go. Nearly. Weather is the issue.

The odd thing about funerals is that sometimes it’s the only place you get to see all of your family together. It happened that way Saturday as we marked the passing of my brother-in-law.

The kids are up. The mom is up. The grandpa is up. I think our children are sleep deprived. They all got two days off because the Pasadena schools were closed after the recent tornado tore through town roughing things up.

There’s a nip in the air and frost on the ground. It’s early but the day has fairly started. The trash can is out, the cats are fed, and there’s a load of wash going.

Good news. We got an inch of rain yesterday. Better news. The driveway repair held. The rain ran down the drive in torrents, turned right at the low side, and kept on going down the drain into the street.

Woke to the sound of rain this morning. It’s still coming down, in a slow, measured pace. And it’s a cold rain, which makes little difference to the ground or the bluebonnets in the back pasture, and they are profuse.

One day in 1963 my journalism teacher suggested I contact the Houston Chronicle about becoming a stringer, covering high school football. I did. I got the job. That started a relationship with the Chronicle that lasted ten years.

Bought a book yesterday. It’s sure to keep me up nights. The Anatomy of a Paleozoic Basin: The Permian Basin, USA. I mean, we’re talking about a story that happens over the course of 540 million years.

There’s a bracing chill in the air this morning. The trash can was dutifully hauled to the street, and the cats fed. The latter’s dish was on the ground when I went out. a sure sign the raccoons were last to feed. I’ve encountered a possum or two, but raccoons bring families to the diner, and they’re boisterous.

It’s a moist morning. Fog. Low hanging clouds. We get a west wind later today. And our fire danger goes up. I was hoping for a wetter winter. But hope when it pertains to the weather is just that.