I stayed home for most of Independence Day. Read. Worked in the yard. Talked to the cats. I think you can call that independence. When the sun set and the time came, I walked into town for the fireworks. I arrived just in time to hear the end of our national anthem and see the evening sky begin to light up with a colorful display of pops and bangs. I expected more people, but there may have been other vantage points.

Independence Day. Alleluia. The day we threw off the yoke of British tyranny, and a bunch of guys prepared to be hung if it didn’t work out. Luckily, for them it did. We celebrate by popping off fireworks, so it will be noisy this evening. I might walk into town to see what the local folks have planned for the main event. I can see it from my yard, but it’s better close up.

There’s a plant growing in the middle of my driveway, with tiny, tiny white flowers, each touched with a dab of yellow, bunched around a lavender seed. You can see them on your hands and knees quite easily. I have no idea what prompted me to look closer, but I did and now I can’t unsee it. It’s attractive, and I believe I’ll try to grow more of it. It’s called Texas Frogfruit. It will fit right in with the Straggler Daisies, also known as Horseherb, that occupy most of my yard.

It’s always the same. There is the injury. There is the acknowledgement. There is the recovery. Tuesday night my calf was screaming. Injured in my sudden retreat from the unexpected appearance of the red wasps, it wanted to bear no weight. The next morning it was tender, barely walkable, and I visited the clinic to ensure the damage was routine. This morning, what felt catastrophic on Tuesday, feels more or less normal. There is soreness, but I am ambulatory.

I believe my body has decided enough is enough. On the day I finish a course of meds for hip and shoulder injuries, I pull a calf muscle getting away from a wasp nest I accidentally disturb. The hip had me limping for the pain it fed into my lower back. Now I’m off to limp for the lower leg. I’d say it doesn’t seem fair, but I’m fairly certain fairness has little to do with it. It’s just my mind making promises my body can’t keep.

Chasing fame. It’s an odd passion. But it occurs to me that everything I’ve done in my life has been in service to that notion. From the first newspapers I sold as a child to Marines at 29 Palms through every job I’ve ever held since, I’ve either sold or helped to sell something. That’s what companies do. They want to be famous. Known. And they want people to give them money. Anyone working for them, in any capacity, helps to fill that mission.

As always, there’s more to the story. Yesterday’s dip into grief showed me how close it lies to the surface of other people’s lives. I lost a loved one who was loved by others, in ways big and small. Their loss is no less grievous than mine. A heartache is a heartache no matter how it comes to be. It is easy to forget, as I go about the business of healing, that my suffering might be carried by others. Of course, it also means it is not my burden to carry alone, and that helps.

Yesterday, June 27^th, would have been my 56^th wedding anniversary. If my wife had lived. Unfortunately, she passed away two months after our fiftieth in 2020. It’s strange the day of the anniversary should have passed unnoticed, while the day after brings back a flood of memories and one or two tears. But that’s the way grief works. When it first comes to visit, it sits with you all day, every day. Then gradually you grow apart, until finally you’re only bumping into one another at random times, in random places.

There are times, when for no clear reason, I find myself plagued by something poking me in a finger or a toe, and I have no idea how it got there. It only hurts when I bump against it, and it takes real work to find the source of the irritation. Sometimes it’s easily removed with a pair of tweezers or a finger, and sometimes it just stays there to fester, harden, and eventually go away. I think there are a lot of spiritual things like that. Little irritations that you discover by accident when you bump into them. They’re hard to spot and harder to remove and cause that little bit of annoying trouble that reminds you the problem is there, maybe to be fixed, maybe not.

I work with a team of people who help a friend cater meals. One meal in particular is meant to replicate a fine dining experience. The table is set as tables should be set. We dress in black. Serve from the left, pick up from the right. It’s all about decorum. But there’s always a tension around the serving and picking up as to the necessity of the form because it’s not always easy to do. I insist we try; some are more relaxed.

Yesterday I wrote about driving slow through the night, but I’ve even started driving slow through the day. It takes an effort, however, because it feels as though I’m hardwired for finding the quickest way. But lately, I’ve opted for the back roads and the side roads. The slow roads, the ones with twists and turns. The ones with things to see.

Drove home in the dark last night from a musical event. Part of the trip was down a country road. Narrow. Winding. Twisty. Full of deer. I was going slow. I had the windows down, too. The woods pressed in around me. I could hear the cicadas, crickets, and frogs singing their nighttime melodies. It would stop as I drove through pasture, start again in the woods.

At the first of this month (June), I noticed we were sharing our Post Office with the city just down the road (Blanco).  Didn’t think much of it. Thought there must have been an emergency and they needed help. But yesterday, they were still there and I asked why. The clerk said they lost their lease. That surprised me, because it didn’t seem like that was something that would sneak up on you.

The weather feels uneasy these days as though it is having a hard time making up its mind about what it wants to do. Should it rain? Should it shine? What? How about a strong wind? Maybe a good calm? We’re having hot days, but there’s so much moisture in the ground it hardly feels like summer at all, and its nearly July. By now we should be baking. Instead, we have a sauna.

Father’s Day. My day. Me as a member of the father class. I like being a father. I mostly liked coaching. I loved cheering. And I read to them every night. I was a good diaper changer, I knew how to feed, and I could pat babies to sleep. I could even handle the kids while my wife got alone time. I was hit or miss as a disciplinarian, and I could have used a touch more calmness.

A friend recently asked what I had planned for the week, and I said, “Nothing.” Except I have one or two things planned, but they’re things to which I’ve been invited. Planning implies something I’ve set up, and the legit answer these days, more often than not, is nothing. I’ve spent most of my life having to be somewhere and do something, mostly going to and from work, so the idea of meandering a through a day, a week, and even a month, is appealing.

I’ve noticed in my various feeds lots of stories about the Algerian soccer team in Kansas, and the Scottish team in Boston. It seems the World Cup has come to the Americas. All the clips are good, and they have made me feel good, because I like those sorts of clips, especially the ones with the Scots singing. But it occurred to me that given the way algorithms work they might be singling me out, because, well -- algorithms.

Another new plant has come to the garden, Ironweed, again courtesy of my arborist son. As with the bluebells, this is their second year but first to bloom. Maybe it was all the rain. Whatever the cause, the flowers are out and they look great. Now we hope they propagate. It’s not always as easy as one might think. Nature is relatively capricious that way. For instance, the false mallows he planted long ago, are still just two.

Went to a big box bookstore yesterday, Barnes & Noble. Got washed in a wave of nostalgia. Once upon a time I worked for a publisher and sold books for a living. Every year at the big industry trade show we’d collect reading copies of new books. Some years I’d bring home boxes of them. Yesterday, I felt like I was back at that trade show. I wanted one of every book on display. I restrained myself, however, budget limitations, and bought the book I wanted plus one other.

Yesterday was a day of riding around. Went to a lake, went to a river, sat and watched the sky. There was a big rain. I reported three inches at my house, but it was closer to four. When those rains come, the rivers and creeks really run. I like to go see them. Yesterday it was the Blanco River and Miller Creek. They were both running hot and muddy. It was particularly nice to see water in the creek, because lately it was a creek in name only.