By standard metrics, I’m old. My sixtieth high school reunion is next year. And I feel as though I look old, too. Gravity, after all, pulls and tugs and skin sags. But I don’t feel old, although I’m not sure what old feels like.

There’s an old saying, measure twice cut once. Good advice. It’s also good advice to measure even once.

If you’d like a good example of how faulty memory can be. I have an example for you.

Got a text from a cousin yesterday enquiring as to the names of the parents of one of our great grandparents. I knew them. Almost off the top of my head. Peculiar bit of information to have.

Home. The grass needed mowing. I mowed. All else seems in good order. The rain gauge stands at an inch and two tenths. The Crossvine I planted this spring is blooming on the trellis. Lots of promise there.

Sometimes I pull a thought and an entire sweater unravels. In the last three days I’ve written about the torture of waiting for an answer, the pain of getting something other than what you want, and my technique for dealing with it. I thought I was done, but lo and behold, there’s more.

This is it. the final night thoughts. It’s about happiness and how it’s under your control.

Yesterday, I talked about how to wait for an answer. Today, it’s what happens when you get it.

Ah, the midnight rambles. That time in the night when I wake from a sound sleep to begin thinking intrusive thoughts. The time of obsessive mulling.

Drove to Houston yesterday. Hit a patch of hard rain. It reminded me of the days in Houston when I drove to work in the hard rain. Those were the days when it paid to have lived here a long time and be familiar with the old roads.

Damp and cool is the way to go. I have a sage I planted this year in the garden area I created on the north fence. It struggled this summer. I thought it was gone.

It rained. One half of one inch. The ground is wet. I doubt any creek knows the difference. Still, it’s nice to be cool and wet.

One thing I’ve learned from my recent discovery of geology is this. Rivers dry up. Rivers change course. Rivers are anything but permanent.

I had a revelation the other day.

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.