A nice thing about spring, especially the days when it dresses up like summer, is how cool it gets in the evening. The heat of a summer day, which lingers into the night, is only a hint in the warm days of late spring. When the sun goes down, the heat goes down. The yard is a nice place to walk. The flowers still have a spring in their step.g walk.

I had a nice grandpa week. Got to spend time with the newest grandson, barely eight weeks old. He smiled when I held him, but it might have been gas. I think babies and old men have the same constitution. We like to sleep, be fed, and be rocked. And some of us, if we’re unlucky, need our diapers changed. Maybe my time will come. Who knows. A bridge to be crossed.

I mostly feel rootless. Like mosses or liverworts. I drift along on the surface of wherever I am, perfectly content to be there while actually being nowhere. Today I’m in Virginia. And I could live here. Easily. But then again, I could live in Big Bend, or Taos, or London, or New York, or the Black Hills. They’re all places I’ve been and all places where I felt comfortable once there. Of course, being rootless means I’d never stay. But why should that stop me from living somewhere?

I took a look-back trip the other day to see the high school I attended when I left home at fourteen. It was a nice trip as previously reported, but unfortunately it opened the window for more looking back. For several early mornings, I found myself in re-live mode, re-examining old life decisions. Not a profitable exercise. Eventually, I broke free, but it was semi-exhausting.

I miss my mother. She died when I was twenty-one in the middle of my two year tour of active duty in the US Naval Reserve. I was in Charleston when I got the call the morning after she passed. I’m not sure I ever got over it although I wouldn’t know how to tell. I left the base for most of thirty days, and when I came back I picked up where I left off.

I stepped back into my past yesterday. It went better than expected. Most the past was still there visible through the vibrant new schools built on and in the shell of the old. In 1960 I was in the first class of a new minor seminary just outside Richmond Virginia. I lasted two years. I think the seminary lasted about fifteen. These days the grounds are home to two college prep schools.

I spent most of my formative years bouncing back and forth between two states, California and Virginia, with intermediate stops in Louisiana and Texas. Eventually, I ended up in Texas, but that’s another story. The bottom line is this. I have lots of sweet memories in states where I no longer live but only get to visit.

My first experience with the new assigned seating on Southwest Airlines felt successful. I liked picking my seat in advance and knowing that it would be waiting for me no matter how long it took to board. Although I’m not sure what it bodes for the airline’s future because now they’re just like every other carrier. They’re still the affordable alternative, but it’s going to be hard to keep prices low with fuel costs soaring. I wish them luck.

Spent an evening last Saturday in the company of a group of young musicians. They were contestants in a contest, but it was hard to tell from the laughter and overflowing camaraderie the winners from losers. They were simply musicians. Young. Full of life. Little fountains of potential. There were libations and a good fire, so they sat around and sang to one another late into the night.

I was walking down the porch this morning and realized I had a visitor in my little Zen rock garden. A rather large, plump looking mushroom. A stranger. One I’d never seen before. A quick search suggested it might be Penny Bun (Boletus edulis). Apparently, it’s a prized mushroom and edible. But don’t think for a second I’ll eat a mushroom based on what Google tells me. Nope. I’m just going to look at it, and marvel, because it is pretty.

With the appearance of the sun, after days of rain, you can almost hear the engines revving in the gardens, and the flower’s shouting, “Let’s go, boys, time for some photosynthesis.” Water, light and carbon dioxide are ready to come crashing together. Roots will get fed, oxygen will pour out, and plants will raise arms of new growth and shout, “Alleluia!” These are the days of plenty.

We’ve always had fireplaces in our homes because, well, how was Santa gonna get into our home without one. So, when we built our current home, of course we needed a fireplace. Unfortunately, we didn’t really pay attention, and we got a firebox that was a little too small, and it also failed to draw. Now, why we didn’t immediately get with our builder and resolve this problem I’ll never know. But we didn’t and for fifteen years the fireplace sat silent.

There’s a softness that comes after a hard rain, especially when the clouds close in and the weather cools. The birds let loose a mighty chorus, and the leaves are green in more shades than have been cataloged. There seems no need to rush, to hurry, to do anything other than simply stand and look and listen. So, I stand and look and listen.

The gutters of my house occasionally need cleaning. Fortunately, it is a one-story house. Fortunately, there are only trees on one side that drop leaves and tassels into the gutters. Unfortunately, I am the chosen one to climb and clean. Unfortunately, the ladder I use, although aluminum, is heavy and more than once it has pinched my fingers with its sliding sections.

I love flowers that thrive and surprise. My scarlet sage, the mealy sage, the spiderworts, gregg’s mist flowers, and the trees my son planted. All came as unknowns but took up residence once in the ground as though it were the culmination of their life’s work. Now I have another. The Scarlet Leather Flower (Clematis texensis). Gifted to me by a friend, for two seasons it pondered its future, before springing to life this spring. The vine climbed. The flowers bloomed. And now it’s showtime. As of this writing, the vine is up in the neighboring crape myrtle.

‍ Data Centers seem very much in the news. Although, to be fair, it may simply be something that’s on my mind and the algorithms are making sure I see it. In either case, I want to talk about them, and I’m not sure I need an excuse. Mostly, the news I’ve heard is that people don’t want them, cities don’t want them, and states don’t want them because they use lots of electricity, they use lots of water, and they take up space with ugly buildings.

“I had an assistant once who believed in fourth dimensional traps. They sprang up unannounced. You’d lay something down, go back to get it and find it missing. Then some time later, maybe even days, you’d find it, often in a totally unexpected place, sometimes in the same place. The thing had slipped into the fourth dimension and returned.” I wrote that in August of 2014.

I’ve almost always felt that I was, if not the sharpest, then at least one of the pointiest tacks in the box of life. As has been happening with my faulty misconception of being well read, however, I have discovered that as tacks go I might be fairly dull. Here’s a short tale of discovery to illustrate my point.

It looks to be a gray, dreary day this morning, but these days no day with rain is dreary. Rain is a thing to be celebrated. It’s a time of drought. Rain is relief. So, I’m willing to walk about wet if only it comes from rain falling from the sky. I’ll be happy and I’ll go about my day with a smile.

The redo of the guest rooms is down to decorations, putting up pictures. It’s a fun part. To ensure the area gets used while I wait for a guest to show up, I made one of the rooms a music room. To get furniture in the music room, I rotated chairs from the front room to the music room and from the bedroom to the front room. That little dance decluttered my bedroom, which is a nice side benefit.