This morning I am sitting within fifty yards of the Rio Grande, just outside Alamosa, Colorado. In late February I will be camping alongside the same river in Lajitas, Texas. In both places the river will be about the same width. I could easily throw a rock across it. I suppose, running as it does through land that is mostly desert, it just never has a chance to get as big as some of its sister rivers. Plus it’s the US/Mexico border so there are lots of people using its waters.

I took my first bath and massage in Hot Springs, Arkansas in the first years of the 21st century. The idea of another person bathing and massaging me, was strange, but I persevered and found it comforting. Eventually, the massage became part of my health maintenance routine, and now my massage therapist is a vital weapon in my battle with age and despair. When my muscles knot, my head refuses to turn, or my back aches, she reaches inside and chases away the demons.

I’ve hiked to the edge of the South Rim in Big Bend National Park, and the top of Guadalupe Peak in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, but yesterday, I took an equally satisfying ride in a gondola to the top of Sandia Mountain in the Cibola National Forest just outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. We went for the views and watch the sunset, and I got both cases. It was especially impressive being so close to the mountain as the gondola climbed. It was the easiest peak I've ever done.

I’m on the road, sitting in a hotel in Albuquerque, New Mexico, waiting for the sun to rise. It’s the first leg of our pilgrimage to Red River, where we commune with friends and listen to music. We added this stop because a musician friend of ours has moved back home to care for her ailing mother, and we miss her and wanted to show our support. She joined us for a late dinner and later today will show us around the old town before taking us up a mountain to have a drink and watch the sun set.

I really like this idea of multiple universes. That each of us might be our own universe. Or maybe we’re just thin slices of a bigger universe. And we’re only that which we have observed. So, this means what I’ve observed is different than what other people have observed. And I used to think that all of this was impossible, there’s only one universe, but then I realized, I had no idea the moon existed until I saw it, and no idea what to call it until someone told me, and that was just something everyone agreed to. So, until I saw it, it didn’t exist, and there was no reason for me to believe that it did or would.

I’m still in my book with my quantum theories and now I'm in the multiverse phase which implies, almost in comic book fashion, that nothing happens until it's observed and all possible outcomes in all possible combinations exist in their own universes and there’s more to it than that from a physics standpoint because there’s something about a wave not collapsing that I don’t totally get.

So, yesterday I was talking about thought experiments and so-called “over thinking”, and came to the realization the latter was probably the former, and it was good. And I think back to all the times I put it to use in my career, grabbing hold of a problem and mulling it over until suddenly there was an answer, and I can quote several of the cases to you, chapter and verse, the problem and the solution.

As I’m reading my book, Six Impossible Things, by John Gribbin, a tidy little book dealing with subatomic particles and their mysterious duality as particles and waves, I am struck by something. Every physicist mentioned has performed a thought experiment, oftentimes because technology has not advanced to a stage that would let them perform a live experiment, but usually just to prove a point about the mysterious quantum world.

I just read a book, Six Impossible Things, by John Gribbin. It’s a tiny book which is fitting because it deals with the mystery of tiny things, subatomic particles. They can be in two places at once, and act as either a wave or a particle, and there are formulas to prove both. No one to date has successfully explained why the particles behave as they behave, although several have tried and that's the subject of the book.

There might be forces at play in the world today that are beyond our understanding. And I might be willing to subscribe to a conspiracy theory if I could find one. At the moment I feel like a mammal in the age of dinosaurs, tiny, underfoot, and out of sight. The titans of our age are galloping across the stage, trumpeting like bull elephants, and the only thing I am to them is a number in a data set.

We have a new monument in my small town. A war memorial, courtesy of the Hill Country Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution and American Legion Post #352. Actually, it’s the Blanco County Veterans memorial. It’s basically a plaza  with marble seats people can buy and dedicate to loved ones along with placards celebrating the various branches of the Armed Forces including Space Force. There’s a small piece of art that looks interesting, but I’m not sure it’s enough to draw the crowds. And there are flags because there have to be flags.

Here we go. A new day. No turmoil to report. No angst. Only the realization that turning over your life to algorithms is probably a bad idea, unless you know how to make the algorithm work in your favor. I’ve figured it out on most platforms, and some I’ve left entirely. But I still find myself responding mindlessly to the screen, making someone money I’m sure.

Long ago my arborist son brought home four cedar poles. “Let's use them to build a shed around the well,” he suggested. Holes were dug and the poles set, and there they sat. Four, forlorn corners waiting to be connected to one another. I toyed with all manner of materials as I pursued our rustic dream.Then came the hail storm and the roofers. Presto, I had tin, and old tin is a time-honored rustic material.

Interesting. I started down a writing path this morning, got one paragraph in and decided it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, probably because it’s likely I’ve talked about it before although it’s difficult to imagine a personal topic I haven’t touched on in the ten years I’ve been writing this blog. Still, I stopped and started over. This is the result. It feels marginally better.

I’m building a door for my little pump house shed. I’m using recycled material. Mostly old fence slats. For the first time in my woodworking life I’m also using glue. I have no idea why this is the first time, but it finally dawned on me that almost every time I see a woodworking video the host is gluing something. It must work.

A good, odd thing happened the other day. I discovered I had failed to return home from my trip to Virginia with my knit hat, cashmere scarf, and lined leather gloves. I asked my daughter to check the house to see if they were anywhere to be found. When no word came to indicate a positive outcome, this is when the odd, good thing happened. I had no response to my loss other than acceptance. It was a thing that happened and I was good.

Clothes and cups are how I remember my trips around and across America. This morning I’m wearing a light, zipup sweatshirt hoodie I bought on a trip in 2015 to Rochester and it’s replacing my usual fleece jacket that I bought on a trip to Kansas City to watch my brother-in-law retire from the Air Force. Also, I’m drinking coffee from my Wall Drugstore Mug (South Dakota in case you didn’t know). The mugs are purpose bought mementos. The clothes are usually reminders that I was ill prepared for the weather, although to be fair, I do find clothes an appealing way to remember concerts and trips.

The sun came out from behind the clouds yesterday and that was a big improvement to the day, to the week, and to my psyche. I’m not a huge fan of the early months of the year. They’re just too dark, short, and cold. When I still worked, I can remember entire days without sun. I’d go to the office in the dark and come home after dark. Depressing.  Which I suppose is why in my retirement I try to clutter up the early months with things to do and places to go. I’m chasing away the blues.

Yesterday, on my blog about Jimmy Carter, I posted a picture of a flag at half staff. The flag in question stands in the National Cemetery at Fredericksburg, Virginia, on Mayres Heights, the hill Confederates defended and Union soldiers attacked. It was one sided. The Union soldiers were climbing uphill over open ground. The Confederates with their cannons were well hidden in a sunken road. It was a slaughter.

It’s a national day of mourning for Jimmy Carter. I remember when he won the presidency in 1977. It was a breath of fresh air after the Nixon years. But it didn’t take long, however, for him to fall foul of the hell-bent-for-leather American psyche. In response to the energy crisis he lowered the speed limit on US highways to 55 and he suggested we wear sweaters rather than turn up the heat. His biggest crime, however, was failing to bomb Iran back to the stone age when they took our hostages.