Here we are, another morning, in another day. Yesterday was a good day. I had lunch and a long visit with two second cousins, their father, and a first cousin once removed. It’s nice still being in touch with people with whom I’ve had such long relationships, with active memories of their parents and the parents of their parents.

Ordinarily people hesitate to admit embarrassing mistakes. I, however, live for them because it gives me something to write about.

I like how children fill up the nooks and crannies of my days when I babysit. Even now, as I write in the quiet house, I know that the kids will start stirring at 6:40. It’s a school day.

I’ve been powerless. Got to Houston. Started to write. Realized my power adapter was still in the Hill Country. The battery on my laptop drained quicker than I could write.

My mind is buzzing today, and not with words to say. I’ve got to travel and that’s an entirely different mindset, especially when there’s a complication.

Heaven, help me. First, it was Wordle. An oddly satisfying game. I investigated letter frequency, studied combinations, and built a spreadsheet, because why would you continue to harvest by hand when you could use a combine.

Another project is in the books. The accent wall in the bedroom is painted and the bed is moved to it’s third location in the last fifteen years.

I’m still at it. Yesterday I went through all the dressers, desks, and cabinets to pull out picture frames. Some had pictures, but most were empty. I dispersed the nice frames to the kids.

Here’s an odd thing I’ve noticed in my journey of recovery from the illness and the loss of my wife. Sports are once again interesting, particularly when there’s a story involved, a story such as the emergence of the Detroit Lions as a winning team, having won nothing for a long time.

I had a day yesterday. Got things done. Found a cache of linens, fine napkins, tablecloths. Paid my property taxes. Had my garbage disposal replaced. Bought a new comforter. Bought new pillow shams. Washed windows.

I did it. Installed new lights in the China Cabinet. Emptied it. Moved it. Washed most of the display items. Re-displayed everything. I even washed all of my late wife’s blue glass. Put it in the China Cabinet.

I came to Houston in January, 1963. Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to James Coney Island’s hot dogs by the son of my journalism teacher who felt obligated to introduce me to Houston’s treasures.

I miss the big booms of Gulf Coast thunderstorms, with their white flashes and window rattling rumbles. The kind of storm that feels as though you’re right out in it even though you’re in a house.

It was another good day of going and doing. Bought the paint for today’s job. Boxed up the daily use Pfaltzgraff China. Then, late in the evening I made a discovery that undid my previous work of days before.

Woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain, a steady rain. Walked out onto the porch to check it out. Listened for a bit then went back inside to bed and to sleep. It was a good sleep, and I woke refreshed this morning.

The death of my friend this week got me thinking about the death of my wife. A natural progression. It’s been three and a half years since she died.

Another life is over. Another friend is gone. And now the ripples of grief are running through the fabric of the lives he touched.

Took down a seldom used cup for coffee this morning. It asked if I’d still love it when it was 64. I think it was a gift from my wife for a birthday or anniversary or maybe Christmas. I really have no idea. I only know it’s been in the house a long time because there was a time when 64 felt like it was a long way off.

After a life trained by work, where the days were driven by preparation and planning, it’s odd to be in a situation where that’s no longer central to my life.

The day dawns clear and cold which is a nice break from clear and cloudy which translates into gloomy and turns us all into recluses. This is more like it.