A good, odd thing happened the other day. I discovered I had failed to return home from my trip to Virginia with my knit hat, cashmere scarf, and lined leather gloves. I asked my daughter to check the house to see if they were anywhere to be found. When no word came to indicate a positive outcome, this is when the odd, good thing happened. I had no response to my loss other than acceptance. It was a thing that happened and I was good.

Clothes and cups are how I remember my trips around and across America. This morning I’m wearing a light, zipup sweatshirt hoodie I bought on a trip in 2015 to Rochester and it’s replacing my usual fleece jacket that I bought on a trip to Kansas City to watch my brother-in-law retire from the Air Force. Also, I’m drinking coffee from my Wall Drugstore Mug (South Dakota in case you didn’t know). The mugs are purpose bought mementos. The clothes are usually reminders that I was ill prepared for the weather, although to be fair, I do find clothes an appealing way to remember concerts and trips.

The sun came out from behind the clouds yesterday and that was a big improvement to the day, to the week, and to my psyche. I’m not a huge fan of the early months of the year. They’re just too dark, short, and cold. When I still worked, I can remember entire days without sun. I’d go to the office in the dark and come home after dark. Depressing.  Which I suppose is why in my retirement I try to clutter up the early months with things to do and places to go. I’m chasing away the blues.

It’s a travel day. My bags are packed, and I’m ready to go. It’s cold here, but colder there. As per usual, it feels as though there are a million more things I should be doing prior to departure. But history has shown it’s best to slow down.

It never fails. Birthdays. Christmas. Something strikes my fancy. It feels perfect for the intended. I buy it. I wrap it. But inevitably, along the way, from buying through wrapping and even giving, doubt sets in. The brilliance of the gift, it’s perfectness, fades.

I’ve been out and about the last several days, untethered from my computer and the urge to write. Spent time away with friends, listening to music, and socializing.

The cold and wet drove me indoors yesterday. It was a day of laundry and TV sports. During the course of the day, I barely saw a mention of Pearl Harbor and the Japanese attack in 1941. I guess it’s time of living in infamy is up.

I sang some songs yesterday to a crowd of people. Mostly nobody listened. A few did. I could see them looking at me. But the rest just talked and chattered as I played.

I made music yesterday with two friends. If you ever get a chance to make music with two friends, do it. We’ve played together off and on for about four years, taking our opportunities when they present themselves.

Well, I’m back from Marathon and I’ve gone from having my day intensely planned to having no plans at all. The day once again stretches out before me, empty waiting for me to fill it with whatever strikes my fancy.

A final bit on my grief story. My three children. They’ve all been supportive. They backed me on my decision to move their mother to memory care, and they’ve been there for me since she passed.

Yesterday’s grief story, while a story about grief, was incomplete. Part of the tale. Another part is the group of old friends, the ones who rallied round, kept in touch, invited me out, took me to football games, celebrated my birthday, bade me sing.

This is another grief story. Today I head to Marathon, Texas for a small music festival, the aptly named Marathon Songwriter’s Festival.

We’re having a hill country summer. There’s rain to keep things growing, and the summer heat is bearable. Unfortunately, the lakes and rivers are too low and too dry. But it’s still nice to be able to go outside.

There’s a lot of mourning going on these days. People I know are passing left and right. The old crowd is getting smaller. Inevitable but still distressing.

My little pink flower got me thinking the other day. Not always a good thing but sometimes something comes of it. So, let’s try this. It’s about sharing.

At the base of the big crape myrtle is a flower bed that once was full. That was when the tree was tiny. There was turks caps, salvia greggi, and rock roses. They were abundant. Then the tree grew large.

I went to a memorial service yesterday for a man I barely knew. We had a casual relationship; it was centered around a musician we favored.

I love summer. I got home yesterday following lunch and an afternoon of music with time to mow. So, I did. I changed into my work clothes and fired up the zero turn mower.

Made music with friends yesterday. The best way to make music. And there were friends there to listen, too. And two of my cousins showed up, and that was special.