A few thoughts on things my parents gave me and what I’ve done with them.

Yesterday was Father’s Day. My oldest son called. My youngest son popped in with best wishes. And my daughter and her two arrived on the way to summer camp with a pair of socks for me declaring me a cool ass grandpa.

Yesterday I talked about the foundational women in my life, but there were others who had a large impact as well.

Today, as we continue my voyage of discovery, I look back into my life and memories and talk about the women in my early life. Three in particular hold places of honor. My mother, my grandmother and her mother. The foundation.

I’m back talking about my family. More history. Let’s chat about my youngest brother. He’s gone. Died in 2005. He was gay. This month is LBGT pride month, and I think about him a lot, but always during this month.

Outside my door there’s thunder and I saw lightning just a bit ago. The storm is just to the south of me. I can see rain in the tree line.

Several weeks back I had my annual visit with my cardiologist. He’s a nice young fellow who always takes time to explain things. As he was listening to my heart, there was a moment when he lingered. That’s the only way to describe it. It felt different than all the other times people have listened to my heart and lungs. But he didn’t say anything, so I didn’t say anything.

For the last several days I’ve been grandpa in residence, getting the kids up in the morning and off to their summer care programs.

I think my best bet is to emulate Chance the Gardener in Being There and maintain my silence, smiling, nodding, and taking my pleasure in the simple things…

We’re still in childhood talking about my family and my dichotomous life. And what is the dichotomy?

Back to my childhood, the one of constant moves. No one ever told me, here’s how you make friends. I guess they figured I’d figure it out.

It’s back to my mini memoir. So far it feels pretty ragged. I’ve talked about World War II and religion. There will be more on those later. Right now, it’s time for family. I’m the oldest of four boys. What I remember about my childhood is moving a lot and always being the new kid. For an additional bit of spice, my ears protruded.

Celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of my friends’ wedding yesterday. It was nice to see everyone. It made me think of my fiftieth wedding anniversary. It happened during Covid. June 2020.

Flame leaf sumacs have colonized the ditch along the pasture fence on the south side of the house. They’re robust growers and can get tree-like in a hurry. But they’re frail, and they break apart in high winds.

I have a pair of leather grilling gloves I have repurposed to become thistle gloves. The invasive musk thistle that I am removing from my grounds is fiercely protective and the gloves are the only way I can handle the thistles as I dig them up. The other day I lost the right glove.

I’m lucky. My drug of choice when I’m down, is yard work. I felt funky the last week or so, laid low by memories of a departed wife and old camping trips.

We had another good rain last night just as I was falling asleep. But these little pop up thunderstorms are deceptive. While I got rain, I’m pretty sure it missed a lot of my neighbors.

I forget sometimes that the spring flower season is upon us. The pasture behind the house is covered in the golden blooms of tickweed. The miniature crape myrtle is festooned with pink. The sage is gray and lavender. The lantana is yellow and red.

It’s a melancholy weekend. Memorial Day. For ages it was our time at the river. The Nueces. We’d go with family and friends.

Ah, the winds of change. My son who lives with me is considering his own place closer to nature. I’m replacing my 20 year old golf clubs. I sent my big BBQ pit to Houston to live with my oldest son.