When you get into a routine, sometimes it feels as though nothing is happening. When in reality everything is happening. And sometimes you feel as though the same thing is happening, when nothing is ever the same and everything that is happening is in reality all new.

I’m moving quietly through the sleeping house this morning. Getting my coffee. Writing. It reminds me of almost all the days of my working career.

Roamed the streets of Pearland yesterday, and Manvel, too. The latter is where we landed after vacating Pasadena in the mid-90s. We rented because we didn’t know how much we’d like country living. Turns out we liked it a lot.

Went to hear music the other evening, and while we waited recorded music was played. At one point, on came Elvis singing, Can't Help Falling in Love, and before you knew it all the boys there at the club began to sing along. Me included. And it was fun.

Talk about the strange human brain. I start my day with Wordle. The NY Times puzzle that gives you six chances to guess the five letter word the editor chooses every day. I do the puzzle every morning. And lately, I’ve begun to feel that if I fail my day is likely to be a bad one. That seems odd.

What did we ever do before the internet. How did we discover the only way to cook scrambled eggs? Did we even care what four things rich people did? And what’s the criteria for a bad decision in TV, and why 50, why not just ten?

Emotions. I’ve had the devil’s time learning to keep mine in check, particularly on the golf course. Being a middling player at best, frustration has been my constant companion.

Got a sweet text from my daughter last night. While driving in the car yesterday, the kids had a discussion about how much they miss me.

We’re baking. Got up last night about three. This was my second night at home in two weeks. Wandered out into the dark. The porch thermometer said, 85. I went back in and dreamed of snow.

It’s been a good week. The grand-kids are in their new school. I helped around the house. Cooked a dinner. Hung curtains. Folded clothes. And did a little grocery shopping. Basically, I tried to make myself useful.

Took a walk down memory lane yesterday. Drove to the University of Houston. Parked. Went to the building formerly known as the University Center, UC for short.

Disappointment. None of my doctor’s appointments yesterday went as planned.

School days. Here we go. Lunches are packed. Clothes are laid out. Supplies are in tow. It’s the first day of school in a new school for the grand kids. Their mom and I were granted permission last night to walk with them.

I’m on a fix-it roll. Got home from Marathon. Started getting ready for Houston. It’s grand-kid time. Took one last shot at fixing the wonky seatbelt in the backseat.

In the beginning there soon came the middle and after that the end and this is the end of our trip.

I’m at an age where there might not be much left to live. I suspect that’s why I like hiking. It’s slow. It’s measured. It’s peaceful.

We got rain yesterday. A big storm blew through town just as we sat down for dinner. Gave us a nice cooling off. There was thunder and lightning all through the rest of the evening.

We had a quiet day yesterday. Drove to Balmorhea. Floated in the big pool. Drove back. Napped. Went to visit friends. There was music.

Big day yesterday. Drove into Big Bend. Went down to the river. I’m happy to report the Rio Grande is still flowing. I looked into Mexico. No one was out and about. It was too hot.