It’s hard to believe I had a day full of something yesterday but really nothing special to write about or at least nothing I feel like sharing right now. I guess you could call it an ordinary day. One of those days in a life measured out by coffee spoons. Drip, drip, drip. Anyway, here we are, and a new cold front has arrived, and winter once again is here to talk about nothing, satisfied to be a big cold blob that pushes us all inside until better days arrive.

Of course, I did have a nice unexpected casual dinner with a couple I love, friends of the warm embrace and welcoming smile. That was nice. And later in the evening I encountered briefly another friend and that was equally pleasing. But the rest of the day was spent in commerce and who wants to talk about hiking boots and backpacks with bladders? That feels like a real conversation killer. Look, I bought a new pair of boots, and the other goes, oh, how nice with eyes looking for a way out, thinking maybe someone else will come talk to me.

I did make one discovery yesterday that was fun. It had to do with twelve tones and the guitar fretboard and then octaves and how to play them. And suddenly, the phrase I can see clearly now made sense and it feels weird after all these years of noodling on a guitar that I’m just now beginning to enjoy the rich complexity of the instrument. I guess that’s one of the benefits of retirement. You have time to hold the instrument, talk to it, try to understand it, make it love you as much as you love it, knowing all the while it will only give back what you put into it, and isn’t that just like a relationship?

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale