And as I’m now doing in my Guadalupian Epoch, I will not be blogging every day. I will be soaking up the sights, taking notes, gathering my thoughts. Then, when I come back, I will tell you about it.

The rains are still falling and that’s good. The lakes and streams have yet to benefit, but I think that will come. Once the ground is saturated by these gentle rains, all we’ll need is a gully washer…

Drove to Houston yesterday. Watched the Cougars play football. Drove home. We ate lunch at Tony’s in Sealy on the way and grabbed Taco’s Supreme at Taco Bell on the way home. We lost the football game. I don’t believe it was my fault.

It’s amazing how long moisture stays in the ground when the sun isn’t beating down. In the summer a fair rain might last two days. In the fall, a fair rain hangs around as if it has nothing better to do.

I think I’ve entered a new epoch in my life, hinging on my hike to the top of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. I’d like to call it my Guadalupian Epoch…

Well, that was an interesting exercise. Five days. Writing every day, getting ready for the next day. Usually, I do what I’m doing now. Sit down in the morning and write.

Friday dawned cold and wet. We were all up early and ready to go. We’d had a good three days, but there was one more day left.

Tomorrow. It came. Wet and cold. Clouds swarmed down and hung over the hills as if to say, enough, you’ve thought about us enough. Time to move on. And we did.

Ah, sleep. On the morning of the second day, the grimness and exhaustion of the previous evening began to fade away with coffee and comradery.

We arrived at the Pine Spring campground in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park on Monday evening, my Ozona friend and I with his camper. Our Canyon Lake friend in hers. We ate a nice dinner. Made plans for the morning and retired to our quarters.

What a trip what a year.

By standard metrics, I’m old. My sixtieth high school reunion is next year. And I feel as though I look old, too. Gravity, after all, pulls and tugs and skin sags. But I don’t feel old, although I’m not sure what old feels like.

There’s an old saying, measure twice cut once. Good advice. It’s also good advice to measure even once.

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

Got a text from a cousin yesterday enquiring as to the names of the parents of one of our great grandparents. I knew them. Almost off the top of my head. Peculiar bit of information to have.

Home. The grass needed mowing. I mowed. All else seems in good order. The rain gauge stands at an inch and two tenths. The Crossvine I planted this spring is blooming on the trellis. Lots of promise there.

Sometimes I pull a thought and an entire sweater unravels. In the last three days I’ve written about the torture of waiting for an answer, the pain of getting something other than what you want, and my technique for dealing with it. I thought I was done, but lo and behold, there’s more.

This is it. the final night thoughts. It’s about happiness and how it’s under your control.

Yesterday, I talked about how to wait for an answer. Today, it’s what happens when you get it.

Ah, the midnight rambles. That time in the night when I wake from a sound sleep to begin thinking intrusive thoughts. The time of obsessive mulling.