Ah, the big game, for us. Houston against Texas. Football. It’s always fun to beat them, but we’ve only done it seven times. So, it’s definitely not a habit.

Yesterday was a good day. In the morning, I got Wordle in two. In the afternoon, I got to Houston to visit my daughter and the two grandkids, and last night Altuve homered in the ninth and the Astro’s won.

Played a little music last night. My wife’s cousin invited us to perform at their RV rally just up the road in Stonewall. We obliged.

Went for a long walk yesterday. Five miles. It’s the nicest thing about my small town. I can walk out my door, go through the Johnson Settlement Park, get into town, turn right on Avenue F, and before you know it, I’m in the hills south of town.

I don’t know what to make of this. My current streak in Wordle is 118 days. My streak started on June 22. That was the night I saw Reckless Kelly at Gruene Hall. I went by myself.

It’s another fine fall morning. Venus is so bright in the dark before sunrise it seems unreal. As are the rest of the stars for that matter. Jupiter hangs shining in the west, while Orion’s belt tightens everything up in the Southwest.

This is lovely. Stepped outside this morning. It is cold. 45. That’s fall weather. The air is clear, and the sun is golden on the grass. It will be the same this evening. Right before dusk everything will turn gold.

Drove through parts of Houston yesterday. Traveled up 45 from Sagemont, into downtown, and out again via Interstate 10. Went through areas where I lived a large part of my life.

The rain came. The heat departed. Nice combo. Any wild thing that needed to bloom has bloomed. Any wild thing that needed to feel all green is all green.

It is closer to noon than it is to dawn. Yet, here I sit, writing, as though the sun is still to rise and my day yet to begin.

Day five of my Covid experience. Feeling pretty good. The antiviral meds are making their presence known. I have a funny taste in my mouth. Oh, well. Small price to pay for the help.

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.