I am returned from the valley of Covid. Dropped off the cliff Saturday morning about 2 a.m. Woke up to a raging fever and a head full of everything, along with a cough.

My birds. They gather to eat and drink. The latter is new. It took them a while to realize a bird bath was in place. They get it now. But no one is bathing. They sit on the edge and sip.

Woke to the sound of thunder and rain. Glanced at the radar. Realized I’d missed the bulk of the storm. Here’s to sound sleep.

I walked outside this early morning ready for fall and got more summer. The air is still and hot. In a word, stultifying, although stifling is good too.

Durn. I went to bed last night without thinking of something to write about this morning. This means sitting down fresh and sorting through a large collection of random thoughts to see what might be worth a few words.

For the last two days I’ve joked with friends about celebrating fall-like weather simply because the temperature was in the low 90s during the day.

I’m still carrying on from the day before when I talked about memories and friends. A second high school friend opined that for our generation (Memorial High School, 1964), it was usually the women who managed the social calendar.

Yesterday, I wrote about memories and the making of new ones with new friends. And a high school friend commented that she was in a new locale and ready to make new friends herself, and added, “…I sense you are lucky. I believe a lot of men don’t have friends for whatever reason….Any ideas why??”

I’m living with a mountain of memories. Just the other day, as a friend and I sat in our seats at a University of Houston football game, we looked back in time.

I mowed but the mower rebelled. It stopped. Won’t start. Small engines are not my specialty. But I will try because I have nothing if not time. It’s obviously not getting gas. Now I need to figure out why.

I am home. Pulled in last night. Went to bed early. There are chores to do today, but not many.

Last week was a good week with two weird exceptions. On Tuesday last, I misplaced my sunglasses. They disappeared without a trace and without a hint as to how I might have lost them.

Well, the work is finished. The holes are dug. The piles driven to refusal. The lifting complete. Doors close with ease. Cracks retreated.

It is easy to forget sometimes that there is actually hard work that needs doing.

Smoke detector batteries are only allowed to fail in the middle of the night. I have no idea how the makers of smoke detectors arrange this, but it’s true.

I had a rejuvenating evening at a baseball game with friends last night, which is a great place to have a rejuvenating evening because the pace of a baseball game allows for plenty of time for quips and stories and laughter…

While we’re on the subject of Vietnam, which is where I was yesterday. Here’s my favorite book on the subject, and not a favorite because it lays out some great theoretical story about why and how we got there, but a favorite because it’s full of great writing and tells stories about the little guys, because most histories are about the officers, and this one is about the grunts.

don’t believe this. I just read an article about a new Rolling Stones album. I listened to a track. I’m excited. Keith Richards is 79 and Mick Jagger is 80. And they’re still making music, creating music.

I found myself in close proximity to a bookstore the other day. Went in and browsed around. Found a copy of Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. Bought it. Brought it home. Read it. I’m glad I did.

Took the kids to the pool yesterday. The pool was filled with bugs. They swam in the kids pool. It is amazing to watch children frolic in a pool that is less than a foot deep and about ten feet around. But they did. Goggles on and all.