Celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of my friends’ wedding yesterday. It was nice to see everyone. It made me think of my fiftieth wedding anniversary. It happened during Covid. June 2020.

It’s a melancholy weekend. Memorial Day. For ages it was our time at the river. The Nueces. We’d go with family and friends.

I like the sound of rain on my metal roof. The sound of hail, however, is different. It sounds exactly like someone dumping a bucket of rocks on my roof.

I had an epiphany yesterday. As I changed the sheets on my bed, I thought perhaps I should change the pillow shams as well. After all, they sit there every day collecting dust. So, maybe they should be washed.

My strongest Valentine’s Day memory is from the first grade in 1953. We lived in Oceanside California. My father was stationed at Camp Pendleton. My grandfather back in Texas had just died on the 11th.

Another project is in the books. The accent wall in the bedroom is painted and the bed is moved to it’s third location in the last fifteen years.

I’m still at it. Yesterday I went through all the dressers, desks, and cabinets to pull out picture frames. Some had pictures, but most were empty. I dispersed the nice frames to the kids.

Here’s an odd thing I’ve noticed in my journey of recovery from the illness and the loss of my wife. Sports are once again interesting, particularly when there’s a story involved, a story such as the emergence of the Detroit Lions as a winning team, having won nothing for a long time.

The death of my friend this week got me thinking about the death of my wife. A natural progression. It’s been three and a half years since she died.

Another life is over. Another friend is gone. And now the ripples of grief are running through the fabric of the lives he touched.

Dishes. I have dishes. It’s amazing the variety of dishes a couple can collect in 50 years of marriage while raising three kids. We have three sets of China.

The approach to the new year has slowed a bit. It’s still two days away, and while I know I’m going to reassess my budget next year that’s about the only thing I know for sure. Today feels like a big pause…

Almost bought an angel. Did buy a Santa. Angels were my wife’s thing, until they weren’t. One Christmas she said no more angels. I guess we were full up. Santa’s just appeared, irregularly. So, it wasn’t very strange for me to buy a Santa.

This new epoch of mine, the Guadalupian, which came to me after I reached the top of Guadalupe Peak last month is proving to be quite the thing.

Finished decorating the Christmas tree yesterday. Wrapped it with gold tinsel garland and hung the ornaments.

I hate to say anything before it happens, because sometimes talking about something before you do it dooms the plan to failure…

If you’d like a good example of how faulty memory can be. I have an example for you.

Travel day. The road awaits. Friends are at the end. And music. But if I’m honest. It’s the friends that count. The one with whom I’ll travel, and those we’ll both soon see.

Here I sit in my second floor room in my daughter’s home looking out the window into their backyard. The house is quite. I’m quite. In a few moments, we’re getting close to seven a.m., the waking will start.

Oh, boy. Another day. Another road trip. It’s back to Marathon. It’s the Marathon Songwriters Festival. This is my third year. I mark the first, in 2021, as the beginning of my recovery from the loss of my wife in 2020.