A Painted Bunting came to visit yesterday. Out of pure serendipity, I happened to look out my window at just the right time. There he was, perched on the fence, leisurely eating seeds from the signalgrass that sprouted in the low ground by the south fence. He spent a fair amount of time there, too, and I watched as long as I could. Eventually, he hopped into the grapevines and disappeared.

Well, the long trip is over and it was fun. But it’s nice being home in the comfort of one's own bed. I had a long day yesterday. My flight was at 5:30, so I was up at three a.m. to get to the airport on time. But the beauty of early morning travel is the lightness of the crowds. Combine that with a small regional airport and it was smooth sailing. Of course, I flew east to west which meant by 8:30 last night I was exhausted and fell into bed without any qualms.

The house is quiet. The woods are quiet. Everyone is asleep and there’s a heavy fog on the lake. All will be gone with the sun. The quiet and the fog. The woods will stir, the house will stir and the day which has already begun will truly come to life. Bird song, kid song, wind in the leaves. It’s a nice final morning for my week in the woods.

When you sleep with the windows open and no shades drawn, morning comes right into the room as soon as it’s ready. The day starts with little regard for a clock. It’s light and time to get busy. The crows seem to wake up first then come the little songbirds followed by me, one of the people. The kids, of course, have no idea what’s going on, partly because they stayed up half the night and partly because they’re kids and more a part of nature than any adult, and like little bears, they’re going to sleep.

I’m in a cabin by a spring fed lake. I went to sleep with the windows open and the soft sound of rain all around. The sun still lingered in the sky, but I was tired and ready for bed. The light rain is still here this morning as in the sunlight because the days are long in this northern clime, partly, I imagine, to make up for what happens this winter when it disappears and the cold comes.

I’m in the northern latitudes at the side of a lake in Maine, where the loons call at night and a gentle mist rises from the water in the early morning. There’s barely a breeze and the water is smooth as glass. Kids are asleep in the living room, and I’ve had my coffee and sat outside in the cool morning air.

It’s a drizzly, rainy morning here in central Texas which is good news if you’re a gardener, not so much if you’re a Fourth of July party planner. I’ll take the rain. At this stage of my life Fourth of July fireworks are more of a nuisance than anything else, and that was especially the case when I lived in Houston, because there was always the neighbor who liked making noise. Although if the weather improves, I might wander over to the courthouse for tonight's big show just to say I did.

We have a bowl of broken glass, which is an odd thing to say because my wife has been dead for nearly five years. But old habits are hard to break and I almost always think in the plural, especially when it comes to things around the house. But back to the bowl, because saying you have one full of broken glass might also be an odd thing to say. But I’ve got one and it’s full.

It was a good Father's Day. I got calls from the two children far away, and had a great evening talk and walk with my son next door. We looked at plants, talked about trees, and discussed the shape of gardens. In the afternoon I watched the US Open. The only man to shoot under par won it, and he had to do it with a 64 foot putt on the final hole in the rain. It was wonderful to watch.

There was a time when a nine a.m. appointment would have hardly deterred me from my daily writing. But that time is long past. I am now perfectly content to let the writing slide for a day or even two. It happened yesterday. My back is wonky and I needed my massage therapist to lay hands upon me. The appointment was at 9 a.m. So, I drank my coffee, tidied up the bedroom, and made the drive. No writing was done. This morning there is still soreness, but I am much improved and a larger disaster averted.

Today is June 6. The Anniversary of D-Day and it’s odd to think that today, in the 21st century, 81 years later, it’s probably better remembered as a scene in the movie Saving Private Ryan than it is as a real scene from the lives of mothers and fathers who actually lived through it or fought and died in it. Of course, that feels pretty normal since the same thing happened with the Civil War and Gone with the Wind. Memories fade, wounds heal, and movies need scripts.

Memory is a tricky thing. I’m fairly certain I once owned a book titled The Music of the Spheres. I bought it for some English Lit class. I think. Heck, that was in the 70s. So, it’s likely my memory is faulty, but I still have most of my English Lit books because, well, I like books. But a quick search of my library was to no avail. So, it’s likely the little paperback disappeared somewhere in one of the moves.

Wow. I just had a moment. Prepared my coffee. Hit brew. Stood looking out the window. Realized there was no cup. Whoops! Inexplicable madness? Nope. Distracted. I realized I’d made an error setting up a product in my storefront, and each cup ordered was costing me money. Not a ton, but enough. I’m not looking to become an oligarch with these mugs, I just want to publish a book. I’ve been busy this morning making corrections.

I’m in an odd spot. I write this blog almost every day. And it’s free. And I feel like I know almost all of my readers, and I consider them to be my friends. This happened because the first posts were basically Facebook posts. Then Facebook decided to add a blog type feature, and I started using it. Then they cancelled it, and I moved to an independent website, GatewoodPress.com, set up a business page on Facebook, and voila, the blog continued to appear on Facebook. I did this to facilitate the publication of my book in 2021, The Caregiver’s Tales: The Long Goodbye, about my wife’s dementia.

The stage lights have dimmed. The building is empty. The show is over. My tour is done. It was fun. It started in Austin and ended in New Braunfels. Two stops. Two stages. Two days. There were no trucks, no crew, no dancers. It was just me and my guitar and my kit bag. I sang my songs to mostly appreciative audiences. It should be noted there were other people on the bill at every stop, so I wasn’t ever close to headlining. Still, there I was. On tour.

The brush pile is gone, hauled away in a big sixteen foot trailer with four sides. A lone man with a skid-steer did the job. He also hauled away some old pallets, the skeletal remains of mulch pits from the days when we gardened in that area. And he also took the old landscape cloth I dug up last week in the front yard. Then he tidied up the grounds before leaving. It’s nice to have that area cleaned. Now I have to figure out a plan for going forward because brush is inevitable and I know more will come.

Anatomy of rain on a metal roof. I’ve had two styles of metal roof while living in the Hill Country. My first roof was screw-down panels, a fairly typical old style roof. It was replaced recently by a standing seam roof with no exposed screws. Falling rain sounds essentially the same on both styles, a lovely patter of falling water on tin. The difference slips in when the rain is soft and the water gathers on the roof before sliding to the ground.

Yesterday was a day where all the tumblers fell into place, and I unlocked a little joy. I found a letter I needed in my junk email. The city approved my replat. I scheduled my new HVAC service. I found a guy to remove my brush pile, which is taller than me and has more than brush in it, and looked scary to burn. And I watched a group of starlings bathe in my bird bath. To top it all off I went to bed at 9:15 last night and didn’t wake up until 5:30 this morning, which counts as a full night of sleep in my book.

Our dining room table has been in the family for more than 45 years. We bought it for our second home at an unfinished furniture store, a good young couple project with more time than money. It’s oak, round, with two leaves and six chairs. Just right for a family of five with lots of aunts, uncles, and friends close at hand. The chairs are scarred by dogs, kids, loads of family dinners, and countless holiday gatherings. It has lived in four homes.

Spent a great deal of time outside yesterday, and I believe I’m paying the coughing price this morning. The winds were up and so was the dust but I drove the ball well and we couldn’t quit our first round of golf this year for a little wind and dust. So, we plodded on and now my nose is stuffy and I’ve got a bit of a cough, plus I’m sore again, but I’ve decided that is simply the price of living past my best-used-by date, the other is attributed to the dust.