Spent a few chill hours on the golf course yesterday. We got around in under four hours, which is how the game of golf is meant to be played. My score was high because my putting and chipping was it’s usual unglamorous self.

The mornings of cold and brisk are at hand. It feels good when I step outside to feed the cats. And it’s really nice when I need to do some work during the day. And there is still work to do, particularly on the little shed.

The Thanksgiving feast is over. I spent the day with friends and their families. It was fun and good company. Now I am home. The house is quiet. There are no decorations for Christmas this year.

I seem to be hell bent on examining the limits of my body’s performance capabilities. Yesterday I discovered when tightening a pipe clamp that I could exert too much force on my thumb and that the joint was weak point.

Lost track of my joy yesterday. Don’t know where I put it. It disappeared somewhere around mid-morning.

The tin roof is on, four sheets. There is nary a shimmy to be found. The little shed feels sturdy. Now it’s on to the finishing work.

It feels odd to be writing about small things when there’s a big thing happening right down the road, but this big thing isn’t a personal tale like my other big things. Those were peculiar to me but relatable, an illness in the family, a death, things we all suffer.