Breakfast, around 8AM, eating on our four-season porch while looking at our backyard go through spring in almost real time. It’s overcast, and there’s been a light rain so everything is damp but not soggy.

Being retired lets us see the days as they pass. When we were working, we’d be on the road to work before the sun came up, this time of year. Certainly, we’d be eating breakfast in the dark, unable to fully appreciate Being rather than Doing. (See, Ann, I was paying attention!) And unable to appreciate our yard and its springtime changes.

DEB: The red…

Pat finally sat back in her chair and addressed E, with an obvious expression of frustration. “Can you please tell your boyfriend to sit still while I’m trying to work? I had an easier time painting faces on four-year-olds at the fair last year!”

K looked an apology at E. Forgiveness was not returned in kind. She looked him in the eye over her glasses—oh crap, yeah, she’s pissed, but it’s not like I’m used to this!—and spoke like she would to a misbehaving child. “Sit. Still. Close your eyes if you have to. This doesn’t hurt, it’s not a…

Nicole Dieker put me on to a book, Still Alice, by Lisa Genova. It’s a story of Alice Howland, Harvard professor, who starts having memory problems, leading to a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. She’s still in her fifties.

I’m only a little ways into the book so far, but the sense of déjà vu all over again is already hitting me. I’m brain-damaged, you see, so I’m terrified of losing my mind the way someone suffering from dementia would. Because it’s already started, like it did for Alice.

Chunks and bits vanish from memory

I love your silver hair
ㅤ as it becomes closer to mine

I love you aging
ㅤ because you become more of yourself every day

I love you getting older
ㅤ because you do it with me

I love the markers of years
ㅤ yours
ㅤ mine
ㅤOurs

Together

So I’m trying to figure out why this t-shirt:

…is patriotic, but this:

I poke my head into her closet, where Deb is hanging up stuff while getting ready for bed.

ME: You, m’lady, are a chief.

She pantomimes an indigenous tribal leader while giving me a questioning look.

ME: No no, like a Navy chief. Chief petty officer. CPO. The ones who get stuff done.

Backing up…

My wife has gone back to work, part-time. She’s at a local firm that does business taxes, helping with the rush months (February through mid-April). She started last year (and got cut short by the Trump Pandemic when the company had to shut down their…

So I mentioned I probably missed some winter decorative items around the house:

And sure enough!

Oh, and there was stuff outside. Okay, I should have remembered that.