I watched a multi-part docudrama series on the creation of Spotify recently called the Playlist. You can find it on Netflix.

I did it. The hose reel came together. The Bluetooth headphones connected. Patience won. And sleep. It is odd to think that at an age when I have little time left, I now appreciate the benefit of taking my time.

Bought a bird bath yesterday. No birds are bathing yet. I imagine, as with the feeder it will take a little time. I bought the bath because I’d like to see more of the painted bunting, I read they like baths.

Last night as I was planning today’s words, I wanted to talk about happiness. Then I got a good night’s sleep and now I’m unsure if that’s still a path I’d like to take, partly because it feels as though it’s a platitude fest waiting to happen.

I can tell I’m feeling good these days because my mind is swirling with ideas. Things to do. With my yard. With my music. With Gatewood Press. And in addition to swirling, the ideas are actually being put into action.

I’m building a fence. Or rather I’m re-building one. When we bought our property where I currently live there was a wooden fence along the back of the two lots. It was old when we moved in. Fourteen years later it’s older still.

They always say growing old is not for the faint of heart. And I believe them. Mostly as I’ve aged, I’ve ignored it. It never really mattered. I expected to die before I reached 50, anyhow…

I’ve had so much fun these last several days that I’m thinking about having a birthday every month. I could make it like a software update. My age point 1 and so on.

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.

I have a task. My new bird feeder uses high quality food. Peanuts and sunflower seeds. All ground into little pieces. The birds love it. But so too do other varmints.

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.

I feel as though I am once again jacked into the world. Connected. Doing things.

I guess it’s true. Into each life a little rain must fall. Some fell into mine yesterday. Not the metaphorical sad kind. But the literal, real kind.

On most mornings I water the plants around my porch with moisture collected in my rainwater drums. I start in the front by the big oaks. Then I move to the new salvia at the end of the house and then on to the back.

No fireworks to speak of yesterday. Mostly I did the one thing I love to do. Read a book. Almost all day.

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.

Yesterday evening in my pool, as I floated on my back, I was looking up into the clear blue Texas sky. The only things to see were a waxing gibbous moon, and a solitary buzzard floating on a thermal, wings extended.

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.