The world is the world, and these days almost everyone shops online. It’s easy. It’s convenient. It’s mostly cheaper. And there are infinitely more choices. I do it as well. But generally speaking, I like going to stores, picking up the goods, looking at them, getting a feel for the product, and talking to the clerks. Plus, it’s nice to have someone thank you when you check out. Of course, there’s a cost.

A storm blew in last night and I slept right through it. That’s a good sign, I think. Plus, nearly an inch of rain fell, and I know that’s a good sign. Of course, I’m not real sure what to do with all those good signs. I guess just be happy, and seems relatively easy, which is another good sign. So, off we go, happy to have rain and good night’s sleep.

I had a thought. Some people I know run when I say that, but I have them, thoughts, and I can’t stop. Here it is. The thought. I’m spending too much time thinking and talking about my age. Age isn’t a thing. It’s a data point. Granted, I’m approaching eighty and only about three percent of the US is there, but it’s still just a number, and I need to remember that. I always did before and I need to start doing it again.

On Thursday the golf gods smiled. Chips rolled close. Putts dropped in. I shot a low score for an old man. On Sunday, the gods were attending other business. Ancient swing thoughts sprang forth. Balls went hither and yon or nowhere at all. We took shelter from lightning. The round progressed to its inglorious end. My humility was strengthened. I will try again.

Over the years, I’ve had little plots of ground to call my own. Some were large, most were small. Mostly, the typical subdivision. A house. A front yard. A backyard. The latter was where the magic happened, for me. A privacy fence gave privacy of a sort. Combined with the magic of the mind I could stand outside and survey my kingdom.

The wrens are hellbent on nesting in and around the house. This spring I had one try build a nest in the watering can sitting on top of a rain barrel on the north porch. Now I discover there’s a nest in a box on top of the shelves in the carport. I think I’ll let them have it. Next season I’ll build them some boxes and set them out in likely places.

My north fence garden is filling in nicely. I created it as support for a struggling chinquapin oak that was trying to survive in bare ground. The garden and the oak seem to be doing well. I’m particularly impressed with the upright rosemary, a plant that previously never graced my grounds. I have no idea why, but we always bought prostrate rosemary. Things change I guess.

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.