As signs go, getting Wordle in two on your birthday has to rank right up there as a great way to start your day. Of course, a pessimist might think it can only go down hill from there, but it’s not actually that big of a deal and I’m an optimist in most cases. So, I’m sticking with the positive connotation.

The beauty of little things. Doing the dishes. Making a bed. Cleaning a bathroom. Tidying up the living room. Folding laundry. You can rush through them, or you can take your time.

It’s the Fourth of July. We should be popping off fireworks, but the city did that on Saturday. They even had the Fourth of July parade on July 1. That all seems odd.

It’s late, for me. The sun is well up. Birds are chirping. The day is on. I slept late. Lounged in bed. Didn’t move except to change positions.

I’m on the road, staying in the home of friends, trying to move silently through the spaces of a strange place.

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.