Worked on my riding mower all day yesterday. Took it all apart. De-greased the engine, what a mess. Repaired a leaking valve cover. Replaced the air filter. Replaced the spark-plug. Changed the oil. Changed the oil filter. Started putting it back together again.

It is entirely possible to get caught in the trap of comparing what you have to what other’s have.

Here’s a cartoon trope. A character is chasing another character. Let’s say, Wile E. Coyote. At some point the chaser, Wile, will find himself suspended in mid-air having run off a cliff.

Got my new tire and wheel yesterday for the big mower. Put it on. Saw that the tire was touching the frame. Thought to myself, they sold me the wrong sized tire. Took it off. Put it in my trunk to take it back.

Happy Father’s Day. I’m a father. I like it. But I don’t really think I need a day. Generally speaking, I feel celebrated all the time.

Last night, as I lay in bed, wandering around in the dark world of 3 a.m., I cast my mind back to the days when sleep was just a thing I did. I puzzled over it a bit.

I’ve had a good weekend. The littlest grandson came for a visit. Slept on the couch. Went with me to hear music. We trekked through Longhorn Cavern. Swam at the city pool. Went shopping. Three times.

I have to say that cleaning and organizing my garden tool storage room revealed a startling fact. I have tools I never or seldom use.

I am reaching deep into every corner of my life and home as I reorganize. Yesterday, I got after the storage area at the end of my workroom.

I was driving in the workaday world last week and realized I was just background noise to the people going to work and doing their jobs. Practically speaking, I was invisible.

June 6. D-Day. It’s about 7 a.m. as I write this. In Normandy France it’s 1:58 p.m. On D-Day 1944, it would be about seven hours into the landings on the six mile stretch called Omaha Beach.

It’s not Marat sitting in his bath with a towel on his head, but I’m writing in bed this morning because little ones are asleep on the couches, and they have yet to stir.

It’s a late start today. Went to a house concert last night. There was a rain delay. I got home late, for me. The alarm went off at six, but I ignored it. Now here I am.

About ten years ago, I built two garden plots on the back lots. I brought in a pallet of limestone blocks to use as the borders. I did the work by hand. I was a younger man.

I’ve heard tell it’s the little things that count. I tend to agree with that assessment. In life and love, I’ve had it prove out. And sometimes I think it’s a good way to measure the advance of civilization.

Again, the fury of the storm raged in the sky around me last night, but little came of it. Once, late, there was a lightning flash that seemed close by, but the rumble of thunder gave it away, coming late and slow.

Spent the day yesterday doing something I could easily do every day. Read a book and listened to music. But not just any music. I started going through the box of vinyl I bought for $10 at a garage sale. It’s 90% classical.

Sometimes, things just click and go your way. The other day I thought my money clip lost. I checked pockets. I checked dressers. I checked tables. Time passed. Then it came to me. A thought. I went to the car. Opened the center console. There it was.

I’m halfway to healing. My hand is on the mend. It’s been a week. I took my last antibiotic this morning. The squamous cell carcinoma is gone. In another week I’ll get the stitches out.

It’s done. Our day of music is in the books. We set up the gear beneath the shelter of a large outdoor pavilion, but pounding rain on a metal roof plays to a louder beat than even the most well amplified guitar.