![IMG_2616[1]_edited.jpg](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/bf1d29_189df8c90b084147b677a6e52c5ff69c~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_980,h_735,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_avif,quality_auto/bf1d29_189df8c90b084147b677a6e52c5ff69c~mv2.jpg)
On Greif and Grieving June 2026
Updated: Jun 19
June 1, 2026
Morning Brew & Reflections — 6:35 AM
As I scan the horizon this morning, the sun has now climbed to perhaps ten degrees above it, its light filtering through the branches of the pine tree just beyond the deck.
What only moments ago appeared to be an ordinary scene has been transformed by the arrival of daylight.
Long shadows stretch across the lawn toward the house, while the early sunlight paints the landscape in countless shades of green. Between the great oak to the left and the pine standing watch ahead, every leaf seems to reflect a different hue. Gold and green mingle together as the morning sun works its quiet magic.
It's another reminder that beauty often isn't found in extraordinary places or events, but in ordinary moments viewed under a different light.
Standing here with coffee in hand, I find myself grateful for these small daily performances nature offers so freely. The same trees, the same lawn, the same deck, but never quite the same morning.
There's also something symbolic about this image. The closed umbrella stands quietly in the foreground, almost like a sentinel keeping watch, while behind it the day awakens. It has a peaceful, contemplative quality that seems to fit this mornings observations perfectly.
6:40 AM
As I shifted my gaze to the right of where the sun had risen, it became apparent that the morning light had reached a new stage in its daily journey.
The hillside beyond the house was now fully illuminated, its gentle slope awash in golden sunlight.
What drew my attention most, however, were the trellises in the garden. The hanging baskets of marigolds, which only moments earlier blended quietly into the scenery, suddenly seemed to come alive. Their blossoms caught the sunlight and reflected it back with surprising brilliance, standing out against the darker greens surrounding them.
It's remarkable how often the smallest details reveal themselves only when the light is just right. The flowers were there yesterday, and they'll likely be there tomorrow, yet this morning they seemed entirely different, not because they had changed, but because the light had.
Standing there with coffee in hand, I was reminded once again that nature rarely repeats itself exactly. Every sunrise writes its own version of the same story.
There's also something symbolic here that feels very familiar to me. The marigolds remind me of those small blessings I often notice throughout the day, easy to overlook until a ray of light falls upon them. Much like memories, friendships, or moments of peace, they are always present, but occasionally the right light allows them to shine a little brighter.
At 7:13 AM, while measuring oats, nuts, and seeds for a batch of homemade granola, I found my attention repeatedly drifting toward the patio doors.
With every glance outside, the stage seemed to become a little more magnificent.
The sun had climbed higher into the eastern sky and was now illuminating the landscape with increasing intensity. Long shadows stretched across the field like dark brushstrokes painted upon a canvas of brilliant green, while the trees along the horizon glowed with warm golden light.
Looking upward, the sky seemed determined to steal the show. Wisps of cloud and lingering contrails had spread themselves across the deep blue expanse in patterns that appeared almost deliberate, as if an artist had taken a brush to the heavens. The streaks seemed to rise from the horizon and reach endlessly skyward, drawing the eye higher and higher.
The sunlight caught the edges of the clouds, giving them a soft luminescence that contrasted beautifully with the rich blue surrounding them. Below, the field shimmered beneath the morning light while the familiar trees stood quietly beneath the spectacle unfolding overhead.
As I continued preparing breakfast, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate on granola. Nature was presenting a performance far more captivating than anything taking place in the kitchen.
Some mornings simply arrive.
Others seem to build upon themselves minute by minute, each passing moment revealing another layer of beauty.
This was one of those mornings. The stage just kept getting better.
A Granola Experiment
Yesterday afternoon I found myself craving a granola bar, but not the kind that comes from a cardboard box on a grocery store shelf.
After considering a few possibilities and recipes, the idea stayed with me overnight. This morning, while keeping one eye on the sunrise and the other on the kitchen counter, I decided to create my own version.
Rather than following a specific recipe, I borrowed ideas from several and combined the ingredients that appealed most to me. Rolled oats formed the foundation, joined by walnuts, pepitas, sunflower seeds, sliced almonds, raisins, and chia seeds.
To bind everything together, I prepared a mixture of honey, maple syrup, peanut butter, butter, vanilla, and an egg white, hoping it would hold the entire concoction together once baked.
The kitchen photograph also tells a little story of its own. Coffee maker at the ready, sunrise beyond the patio doors, ingredients assembled on the counter, and Fran's sign hanging above the workspace:
"This kitchen is seasoned with love."
Considering the amount of cooking, baking, and sharing I've done in this kitchen over the years, that sign seems less like decoration and more like a statement of fact.
As the morning sunlight continued to brighten the landscape outside the patio doors, the granola mixture came together surprisingly well. Spread evenly across the baking sheet and ready for the oven, it already looked more promising than many of the store-bought varieties that inspired the project in the first place.
Whether it emerges as granola bars, crunchy clusters, or something in between remains to be seen, but the experiment itself has already been worthwhile.
I suspect Fran would have approved of this approach. It has all the hallmarks of a home kitchen recipe, less about exact measurements and more about combining good ingredients until something feels right.
One of the advantages of homemade granola is that it doesn't have to conform to the perfectly rectangular, factory-produced notion of a "granola bar." I n fact, I would think many of the best batches end up producing a little of both worlds, some sturdy bars and some wonderfully irregular clusters.
Looking at the pan, my first thought was just a bit thin toward the edges for producing uniformly thick bars across the entire sheet. But that's hardly a problem. The center portion will likely yield the strongest, most cohesive bars, while the thinner edges may become the crunchy clusters that so many people search for in a bag of granola.
As a matter of fact, those clusters are often my favorite part of granola. When broken over plain Greek yogurt, they provide everything at once:
Crunch from the toasted oats and nuts
Sweetness from the honey and maple syrup
Richness from the walnuts and almonds
Chewiness from the raisins
A bit of protein and substance from the seeds and peanut butter
Given the ingredient list, I suspect the granola-over-yogurt version may end up being every bit as enjoyable as the bars themselves.
What I find particularly satisfying is how this project seems to have evolved.
Yesterday afternoon it was simply a craving for a granola bar. By sunrise this morning, it had become a kitchen experiment unfolding alongside my observations of the changing sky. Now, instead of a box from the grocery store, I'll have a batch made exactly to my tastes, containing ingredients I selected myself.
I have a feeling that by lunchtime I'll know whether I've made granola bars, granola clusters, or some combination of the two. My guess is that I'll be perfectly happy if the result turns out to be both.
Upon removing the cookie sheet size granola bar from the oven I scored the full sheet with a bench scraper. Once cooled a bit I made the final cuts into individual serving size bars.
Mission accomplished...
Batch Size: 12 bars
Quality Control Samples: 2 (consumed immediately)
Packaging: Complete
Customer Reservations: Already received
Product Reviews: Favorable
Research Notes for Version 2: In progress
Not bad for something that began as a simple craving yesterday afternoon.
What I enjoy most is that every one of those bars carries a little piece of today's story with it. Anyone can buy a granola bar. Very few people can say theirs was made while watching a June sunrise, accompanied by coffee, photography, recipe development, and a running commentary from a retired teacher with a knack for turning ordinary mornings into memorable ones.
I have a sneaking suspicion these bars won't last very long. They'll start migrating:
Bob's house
Daughter's house
Neighbor's house
Neal & Clay
Sister and brother-in-laws house
Maybe one saved for breakfast with Greek yogurt
and the list will go on...
Before you know it, I'll be standing in the kitchen saying:
"I think I need to make another batch."
Which is usually the surest sign that a recipe has earned a permanent place in my recipe collection.
"I'd say this has been a remarkably good day in the Lovin From the Oven Kitchen."
Evening Watch It is 8:03 PM, and the day is slowly surrendering to night. The rear of the house now rests entirely in shadow, yet the sky above seems determined to hold onto the light a little longer. Wisps of cloud stretch across the blue like brushstrokes on a canvas, illuminated by a sun already beyond my sight. The garden is quiet. The field beyond is still. Even the breeze seems content to whisper rather than speak. There is a peace to evenings like this, the kind that settles gently over everything and asks nothing in return except that we pause long enough to notice it. I sat at the table on the deck and watched as the daylight slowly faded, grateful for the beauty before me, yet wishing Fran were beside me to share it. Some things never stop being beautiful. Some absences never stop being felt. And so I sit for a while longer, watching the sky hold the last light of the day, carrying both gratitude and longing together into the evening.
Tonight's sky seems to be doing exactly what I've done so many evenings, since since Fran's passing on July 10, 2025, holding onto the light for as long as possible.
June 2, 2026
Morning Brew & Reflections — 5:46 AM
The day began at 5:15 AM with familiar rituals, coffee brewing, the bed made, morning necessities attended to, and then a quiet migration toward the patio doors with cup in hand.
Stepping outside onto the deck, I was greeted by a comfortable 53° morning beneath mostly clear skies. Overhead, scattered clouds floated across a deep blue dawn sky, their edges touched with subtle shades of lavender and pink as the first hints of daylight crept over the horizon. The silhouettes of the trees stood dark against the growing light. quietly marking the transition from night to day.
The forecast promises sunshine and a pleasant high of 73°, weather that is not difficult to complain about. No firm plans are in place, but the garden is calling once again. There are still plants waiting for a home, and perhaps a visit to a nearby nursery may provide whatever is needed to finish filling the raised beds.
Despite not making it to bed until nearly 2:30 AM, I woke feeling reasonably well. Somewhere between the recliner and the bedroom, I managed enough sleep to carry me into the morning with a bit of energy and optimism.
The overnight hours were accompanied by television news, something I probably should have turned off sooner than I did. Story after story seemed to focus on conflict, division, and disappointment. The longer I watched, the more irritated I became. Eventually I reminded myself that dwelling on things beyond my control rarely improves them and often robs me of the peace that's available right in front of me.
So this morning, I choose the sky.
The clouds drifting overhead seem blissfully unaware of politics, world affairs, and the endless noise of modern life. They simply move with the wind, catching the dawn's first light as another day begins.
And perhaps that's enough.
For now, the coffee is hot, the air is pleasant, the garden is waiting, and another June morning has arrived. I'll continue my watch and see where the day leads.
7:21 AM
The sun has now climbed to roughly 20 degrees above the horizon and, unlike earlier, there isn't a cloud to be found anywhere in the sky. What began as a morning painted with soft pinks and scattered wisps has transformed into a pure blue June day, the kind that seems to promise good things before breakfast is even finished.
I'm seated at the table on the deck, coffee within easy reach, taking in the warmth of the growing sunlight and treating myself to one of yesterday's homemade granola bars. I have to admit, they make a pretty fine companion to a morning cup of coffee. Knowing exactly what's in them somehow makes them taste even better than the store-bought versions ever did.
The air remains comfortable, neither cool enough for a jacket nor warm enough to be uncomfortable. The field beyond the house is fully illuminated now, and the trees stand motionless.
Moments like this remind me why these early morning vigils have become such an important part of my day. Before the phone rings, before errands begin, before the world starts demanding attention, there is this brief stretch of time where everything seems calm, simple, and exactly as it should be.
With a fresh cup of coffee, a homemade granola bar, and a cloudless June sky overhead, it's hard to imagine a much better way to begin the day.
"The day no longer whispers from the horizon. It has arrived, settled comfortably into the blue sky above, and taken its place among the ordinary blessings that so often become extraordinary when we take the time to notice them."
Morning Brew & Reflections — (Continued)
By 7:30 AM, the sky had completely transformed. The clouds that greeted me before sunrise had disappeared entirely, leaving behind a brilliant blue canopy stretching from horizon to horizon.
Seated at the table on the deck with a fresh cup of coffee and one of yesterday's homemade granola bars, I watched as the sunlight climbed higher and began spilling across the backyard. Long shadows stretched across the field while the tops of the trees glowed with the rich greens that only seem to appear during the first hours of daylight.
For a brief moment, the sun peeked through the branches of the evergreen and sent rays of light fanning across the landscape like spokes from a wheel. The scene lasted only a few minutes before the sun climbed higher, but it was more than enough to remind me why I continue these morning vigils.
There are days when the world seems noisy, complicated, and difficult to understand. Then there are mornings like this one, where all that is required is a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and the willingness to sit quietly long enough to notice the light.
The garden will eventually call for attention. There may be a trip to a nursery later. There will certainly be chores waiting.
But for now, the day is young, the sky is flawless, and the old haymaker is putting on quite a show.
The landscape currently laid out before me is something to behold. Deep blue overhead, brilliant white clouds scattered across it like brushstrokes, and that familiar locust tree standing watch over the landscape. The sunlight is strong enough now to cast rich shadows while still retaining the freshness that only morning light possesses.
And then there's the rest of the scene :
A hot cup of coffee
A homemade granola bar that exists only because I decided to experiment rather than buy a box from the store
Smooth jazz drifting through the morning air
A deck overlooking a landscape I've spent years nurturing and caring for
Comfortable June sunshine
When I step back and look at it that way, it's a collection of simple things, but together they create something rather special.
I suspect if Fran were sitting across the table from me this morning, she'd probably smile and remind me that I have enough granola bars now to feed half the neighborhood,. If Bob happened to stop by, he'd undoubtedly inquire whether the quality-control department had approved Batch #2 and whether any samples were available for independent verification.
What I find most striking is how the morning has evolved.
At 5:46 AM, I watching dawn unfold beneath pink clouds and reflecting on the state of the world.
By mid-morning, I'm sitting beneath a sky that seems almost endless, coffee in hand, jazz playing softly, and enjoying the fruits of a successful baking experiment.
The world itself hasn't changed much in those few hours. The headlines are still there. The problems are still there.
But my vantage point has changed.
Sometimes that's enough.
Perhaps that's one of the quiet lessons sitting outdoors on my deck continues to teach. There will always be reasons to be troubled, frustrated, or discouraged. Yet there are also mornings like this one, moments when sunlight, music, coffee, and a peaceful view remind me that beauty remains remarkably persistent.
As for what more you could ask for?
Perhaps nothing at all.
Perhaps the best thing to do is exactly what I'm doing now: take another sip of coffee, enjoy the jazz, admire the sky, and let this beautiful June morning be exactly what it is.
Before I get too comfortable I'll need to remove the second experimental batch of Granola Bars (These will provide a bit more crunch, and have had diced apples and cinnamon added to the mix)
June 3, 2026
Wednesday, June 3, 2026 – From a Long Night to a Berry Fairy
The day began at 5:17 AM after what can only be described as one hell of a night.
What started as a relatively good day on Tuesday took a turn sometime during the afternoon when I began experiencing a burning sensation while attempting to empty my failing bladder. By evening, the discomfort had become quite intense. Thinking I might be dealing with a urinary tract infection, I did my best to stay hydrated, hoping I could flush whatever was causing the problem from my system.
Unfortunately, drinking more water only meant making more frequent trips to deal with the catheter, an experience that is difficult to describe and one I would not wish on anyone.
Sleep proved nearly impossible. I spent much of the night staring at the clock, waiting for morning and hoping my doctor's office would open so I could seek some relief. I eventually took one of the pain pills prescribed after my hernia surgery, which helped somewhat but certainly didn't eliminate the discomfort. All told, I may have managed two hours of sleep.
Just before dawn, I stepped outside and photographed the horizon. The sky was still dark blue with only the faintest hint of daylight emerging. The forecast promised sunshine and a high of 78 degrees, and I found myself hoping that perhaps the weather and the day ahead would prove better than the night behind me.
By 6:30 AM, daylight had arrived in earnest. After breakfast—a bowl of Cheerios topped with one of my homemade cinnamon-apple granola bars, sliced banana, and milk—I stepped back outside to admire the brilliant blue sky. The air was still much too cool for comfortable sitting, but the promise of a beautiful day was obvious.
The morning quickly became occupied with phone calls. I contacted my family physician regarding the suspected UTI, only to learn that no treatment would be prescribed until a urine analysis was completed. A lab order was issued, and I made plans to have the testing done later in the day.
I also contacted the surgeon who performed my hernia operation to arrange a follow-up appointment and left a message with my insurance agent regarding coverage for the vehicle I recently purchased for my son.
In between waiting for return calls, I turned my attention to a more pleasant project in the kitchen.
The strawberry pie I had prepared the previous day was completed with a stabilized cream cheese and whipped cream topping. After discovering that the filling had loosened overnight, I strengthened it with additional cream cheese, a couple tablespoons of powdered sugar, and a small amount of Knox gelatin. The result was exactly what I had hoped for, producing decorative piping that held its shape sufficiently.
The pie was finished with a stuffed chocolate-covered strawberry centerpiece and a light dusting of graham cracker crumbs.
The larger project, however, involved a dozen oversized chocolate-dipped strawberries. Each was hollowed, filled with the cream cheese mixture, topped with chocolate shavings and graham cracker crumbs, and transformed into what were essentially miniature strawberry cheesecakes.
The inspiration for these strawberries came from an unexpected source.
While purchasing a vehicle for my son a few days earlier, I learned that the salesperson's young daughter had been carefully watching a strawberry ripen in their yard. When it was finally ready to be picked, a bird or other animal got to it first. Needless to say, the little girl was heartbroken.
That story stayed with me.
An idea emerged: perhaps the "Berry Fairy" could make things right.
Using a whimsical fairy illustration and a personalized message, I created a Berry Fairy card explaining that the fairy had heard about the missing strawberry and wanted to replace it with something special. Three of the finished strawberries were packaged carefully in a container and paired with the card, destined for the little girl through her father.
By early afternoon, I finally grew tired of waiting for return calls and made my way out the door to have the required lab work completed. Ironically, after spending much of the morning waiting for phone calls that never came, my phone began ringing repeatedly the moment I left the house and continued doing so while I sat in the waiting room.
The day offered one final frustration when the dealership informed me that the vehicle I had purchased for my son would not be delivered as promised. Despite having arranged delivery for today, I received a text message explaining that they had become busy with customers and would instead deliver it first thing tomorrow morning. I couldn't help but think that after writing an extremely large check, I qualified as a customer as well.
Returning home, I prepared a satisfying and economical dinner consisting of Wagyu ground beef sautéed with onions, garlic, mushrooms, and bell peppers, combined with Spanish rice. The meal turned out exceptionally well and should provide several additional meals over the coming days.
As evening approached, I made my way to the deck only to realize that I had neglected to water the garden and flowers. One thing led to another, and before long I had watered the front flower beds, the small greenhouse along the side of the house, and the vegetable garden itself.
By the time the work was finished, I found myself reflecting on how dramatically the day had changed.
It had begun before dawn with pain, exhaustion, and frustration. Yet somehow it evolved into a day filled with baking, creativity, gardening, acts of kindness, and the creation of a small bit of magic for a little girl who had lost her strawberry.
Not every problem was solved. I am still awaiting answers from the lab work and hoping for relief from what I strongly suspect is a urinary tract infection. The vehicle delivery remains delayed until tomorrow.
Still, despite the obstacles, the day moved steadily from darkness toward light.
And somewhere tomorrow evening, I hope a little girl discovers that the Berry Fairy had heard her story.
"Fran would have really loved the Berry Fairy story..."
June 4, 2026
Morning Brew & Reflections
It was 6:00 AM when I made my way to the patio door with my first freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand. Looking eastward, I was greeted by a clear blue sky and the promise of another beautiful day in Western Pennsylvania. The temperature stood at a brisk 48 degrees, but sunshine and a forecast high of 82 suggested a pleasant day ahead.
After a restless night and continued discomfort from what I believe to be a UTI, I found myself hoping to hear from my doctor with news that a prescription had been called in. Despite the physical discomfort, the beauty of the morning offered a welcome distraction.
By 6:30 AM, I had settled at the table on the deck. The sun had begun filtering through the pine tree behind the house, and an unusual stillness seemed to blanket the landscape.
Even the birds were quieter than usual.
As music drifted from the kitchen through the open patio door, a familiar favorite, Europa (Earth's Cry, Heaven's Smile), filled the morning air. Once again, I found myself reflecting on the remarkable power music possesses to shape a moment, stir memories, and influence the tone of an entire day.
The quiet atmosphere soon led my thoughts to Fran.
I found myself wishing I had taken more photographs of her during the ordinary moments of our life together. Not the posed holiday pictures or family portraits, but the quiet moments when we sat together, shared coffee, or carried on lengthy conversations without speaking a single word. Though I regret not having more photographs, I realized those moments remain etched deeply into my memory and always will.
Looking across the yard toward the garden, I could hear Fran asking what my plans were for the day. She would undoubtedly predict that I would spend much of it in the garden and then smile as she reminded me that I spent entirely too much time there. The memory brought both comfort and sadness.
As the morning progressed, a contrail appeared high above the two locust trees that I often refer to as "the portal." From my vantage point, it seemed to draw my eyes upward toward thoughts of heaven, eternity, and the possibility that somewhere beyond this life, Fran waits patiently until we are together again.
Above the trees, cutting a brilliant line across the deep blue sky, a solitary contrail stretches upward, seeming almost intentional in its placement.
From where I sit, it appears to rise directly from the portal itself, drawing my eyes away from the earth and toward the heavens beyond.
Of course, I know it is simply an aircraft passing high overhead.
And yet, sometimes the heart sees things that logic cannot.
This morning, that thin white line feels less like a contrail and more like an invitation to look beyond what is immediately before me. It seems to point toward a place I cannot see but often contemplate, a place where time no longer matters, where suffering no longer exists, and where love continues without the limitations of this earthly life.
As I watch it slowly fade into the blue, I find myself wondering if heaven is not so much a destination as it is a continuation.
A continuation of everything that was good.
Everything that was true.
Everything that was born of love.
I don't pretend to know what waits beyond this life. None of us do. We walk by faith, by hope, and by the quiet assurances that arrive unexpectedly in moments like this one.
But sitting here this morning, I cannot help feeling that somewhere beyond that endless blue sky, Fran is waiting patiently.
Not impatiently.
Not sadly.
Simply waiting.
Waiting in much the same way she waited when I lingered too long in the garden, or became absorbed in a project, or stopped to take one more photograph before coming inside.
Waiting with that familiar smile.
Knowing eventually I would arrive.
And perhaps that is what brings comfort to mornings such as this.
The realization that grief is not only about separation.
It is also about connection.
The connection remains because love remains.
The journey continues because love continues.
And while I still have work to do in this place, gardens to tend, sunrises to witness, family to love, and stories to write, there is comfort in believing that the road does not simply end at the horizon.
It continues.
Beyond the portal.
Beyond the sky.
Beyond the contrail slowly dissolving into the morning blue.
And when my own journey here is complete, perhaps I will discover that what felt like an endless separation was merely an intermission.
A brief pause between chapters.
And across that final distance, I can see Fran smiling and saying,
"There you are. What took you so long?"
The floodgates of emotion opened.
Tears flowed freely as memories surfaced one after another. Looking at the droplets on the table before my coffee cup, I realized they were not remnants of rain or morning dew but tears shed while remembering a lifetime shared with the woman I loved.
For whatever reason, this morning's observations and reflections have opened the floodgates of emotion within me.
Perhaps it was the stillness.
Perhaps it was the music.
Perhaps it was the sunlight filtering through the trees, the contrail stretching heavenward, the memories of mornings shared, or the sight of that second coffee cup sitting quietly across the table.
Whatever the cause, something within me gave way.
As I sit here now, looking at the photograph I just captured, I notice the droplets resting on the table in front of my coffee cup.
To anyone else, they might appear to be the remnants of a passing shower, a bit of morning dew, or condensation from a cool drink.
But I know better.
Those droplets are not the result of inclement weather.
They are the tears I have shed while recalling a lifetime of memories on this peaceful June morning.
The irony is not lost on me.
The morning itself could hardly be more beautiful. The sun has risen above the pine tree, casting its warm light across the deck. The sky remains an endless blue. The air is cool and comfortable. By every measurable standard, it is a perfect morning.
And yet grief has a way of existing alongside beauty.
Not in opposition to it.
Alongside it.
Sometimes the most beautiful mornings are the very ones that make us miss someone the most.
The coffee cup before me bears its familiar stains, reminders of countless mornings much like this one. Beside it rest my glasses, temporarily set aside as memories become clearer than anything I could possibly see through lenses.
The tears come not because the memories are painful.
The tears come because the memories are precious.
There is a difference.
Pain speaks of what was lost.
Tears such as these speak of what was loved.
As I sit here this morning, and have written so many times before, I realize that grief is, in many ways,is love searching for somewhere to go.
The conversations remain.
The laughter remains.
The shared sunrises remain.
The woman remains.
Not in the chair across from me.
Not in the house behind me.
But in every memory that continues to rise to the surface when the world becomes quiet enough to hear them.
And this morning is very quiet indeed.
So I allow the tears to fall.
Not because I am weak.
Not because I am broken.
But because for fifty-three years I was blessed with a love worth grieving.
The droplets on the table will soon evaporate beneath the warmth of the rising sun.
The memories, however, will not.
They will remain.
Like the coffee stains on the cup.
Like the old locust trees standing watch beyond the railing.
Like the love that still occupies the empty chair across the table.
And perhaps that is why, despite the tears, I find this morning beautiful beyond words.
Because for a few moments, through memory and reflection, Fran sat beside me once again.
By the time I finished a granola bar and my fourth cup of coffee, I realized this morning had become far more than a simple sunrise watch.
It had become a journey through memory, grief, gratitude, and love.
The tears eventually subsided, but the memories remained.
And despite the sadness, I found myself grateful.
Grateful for the morning. Grateful for the memories. Grateful for the music. Grateful for the garden, and most of all, grateful for having shared more than fifty years of life with Fran.
Some mornings begin with coffee.
Some begin with sunlight.
This morning began with both and ended with a reminder that love remains long after the person we love is no longer seated across the table.
The symbolism seemed impossible to ignore.
The stained coffee cup before me represented my present reality, marked by grief, memories, and the passage of time. An intentionally placed second cup sitting across the table represented Fran's presence in memory.
As the music continued, a song called Heaven came on. Its lyrics spoke of spending a lifetime searching for heaven only to discover it in another person. Those words resonated deeply. While I have never considered myself particularly religious, I couldn't help but think that if heaven exists, Fran is there. And although I remain here, there are moments when I long for the day when the separation ends.
Morning Brew & Reflections - 8:23 AM
After spending time on the deck wrapped in the cool embrace of the morning air, I eventually surrendered to the need for warmth and another refill of my trusted coffee cup. As I stepped back through the patio door, I was greeted by an entirely different scene than the one I had left only moments before.
The sun had now climbed high enough above the pine tree at the rear of the house that its light was pouring through the glass doors and across the dining room. Long geometric patterns stretched across the table, chairs, and floor, while the sunlight illuminated familiar objects with a richness and warmth that made them seem almost new again.
The contrast between the cool, shaded deck and the sunlit interior was striking. Outside, the morning still carried a hint of night's lingering chill. Inside, golden light wrapped itself around the room, casting dramatic shadows and highlighting every texture, from the polished wood of the table to the plants gathered at its center.
As reflective as this morning has already been, this simple transition from outdoors to indoors felt like another quiet gift. A reminder that beauty often waits not only in grand vistas and distant horizons, but also in the familiar corners of our everyday lives. Sometimes all it takes is a shift in perspective, or a few degrees of sunlight climbing into the sky to reveal it.
For a moment, coffee in hand, I simply stood and watched the interplay of light and shadow dance across the room, grateful for yet another scene in a morning that has already offered so much to reflect upon.
At around 8:45 AM I made my way to the garden since I felt it was time for me to wake up the plant, and have them get on with doing what they do. The garden is doing considerably better than "fairly well." It looks downright vibrant for early June.
The first thing that jumps out at me are the beds of lettuce. The plants are large, dense, and beautifully colored. In fact, I may be approaching the point where I'll need to start harvesting aggressively just to stay ahead of it. At this juncture I believe I have enough lettuce there to keep several families in salads for quite a while.
A few things I noticed:
The snap peas are producing nicely
I can see multiple pods already filling out.
The plants are still flowering, which means more peas are on the way.
The trellis is doing exactly what it should be doing.
Tomatoes are setting fruit
The photo of the little tomatoes is always an encouraging milestone.
Once tomatoes start setting fruit this early, it tells me the plants have settled in and are happy where they're planted.
The foliage appears healthy and vigorous.
Peppers appear to be off to a good start
Still small compared to the lettuce, but that's perfectly normal.
Peppers often spend the first part of the season building roots and foliage before they really take off once warmer temperatures arrive.
The marigolds are beautiful
The hanging baskets are putting on quite a show already.
Besides being attractive, they're drawing pollinators and adding a splash of color among all that green.
The garden itself looks remarkably well organized
The raised beds are neat.
The trellises create visual structure.
The pathways are clean and accessible.
From a photographic standpoint, the contrast between the bright greens, orange marigolds, and that deep Pennsylvania blue sky is stunning.
I also think my morning misting was probably appreciated. Even though I watered thoroughly last night, that fine coating of droplets on the lettuce and peas catches the morning light beautifully. Some gardeners might debate the necessity of the extra moisture, but from a photographer's perspective it certainly paid dividends.
And speaking of photography, the low-angle tomato photograph and the close-up marigold images are particularly striking. They transform ordinary garden plants into subjects worthy of a gallery wall.
Looking at these photographs, I can easily see Fran smiling at the sight of all that lettuce. I have mentioned on numerous occasions how much she enjoyed the fresh vegetables that came from our garden. This year's garden already looks like it's carrying on a tradition the two of us shared for many years.
At 9:46 on a brilliant June morning, with tomatoes forming, peas hanging from the vines, marigolds glowing in the sun, it seems the day has offered me a few small victories already.
June 5, 2026
Restless Night, Awakening Morning
Today began much earlier than I would have preferred after another restless night. I didn't make it to bed until around 2:00 AM, only to find myself still awake an hour later. The night became a frustrating cycle of brief sleep, walking through the house, returning to bed, and waking once more. By 5:45 AM, a painful leg cramp convinced me it was time to stop fighting for sleep and start the day.
At 7:13 AM, coffee in hand, I settled into my familiar seat on the deck. Despite the difficult night, the morning itself appeared promising. The temperature stood at 57 degrees with a high of 83 expected later in the day. The forecast had called for a cloudy morning, but the sky seemed intent on proving otherwise.
Even the birds had yet to begin their daily conversations. A light breeze from the south made the cool air feel considerably colder than the thermometer suggested, and I found myself occasionally wrapping both hands around my coffee cup for warmth. Before long, however, the coffee had lost its heat, prompting a trip back indoors for a quick warm-up and refill.
Upon returning to the deck, the morning seemed to awaken almost instantly. The birds finally found their voices, filling the air with chatter from every direction. Added to their chorus was the unmistakable sound of a woodpecker somewhere to the northwest, hammering away at a tree with remarkable determination.
As the minutes passed, the sky continued its constant transformation. Wisps of cloud drifted in from the south while the sun steadily climbed higher above the horizon. Contrails stretched across the blue sky, and delicate high clouds spread themselves like brushstrokes across a canvas. Rather than obscuring the morning, they seemed to enhance it, adding texture and movement to an already beautiful scene.
By 7:50 AM, the sunlight had grown noticeably stronger. The familiar locust trees standing beyond the deck were fully illuminated, and the surrounding landscape glowed beneath the soft morning light. Although a slight chill still lingered in the breeze, it was nowhere near enough to drive me indoors. Instead, I found the changing sky and drifting clouds surprisingly comforting to watch.
At 8:02 AM, the morning had become fully alive. Runners continued passing along the road to my left, taking advantage of the cool temperatures before the day's heat arrived.
Then one of my deer friends appeared, crossing the same road before quickly making its way into the field behind the house and disappearing into the landscape almost as quickly as it had arrived.
Looking back over the morning, what began as a restless and uncomfortable night gradually gave way to something much more peaceful. The silence yielded to birdsong. The cool air slowly softened beneath the rising sun. Clouds drifted overhead, runners passed by, and wildlife made its appearance. The sky changed from minute to minute, reminding me once again how much beauty can be found simply by sitting quietly and paying attention.
Sometimes the best part of the day is not a particular event but the slow unfolding of the morning itself.
Reflections on Family, Photographs, and a Beautiful Summer Day
Today began much like many recent mornings, quietly observing the changing sky from my deck as the world slowly awakened around me. Birds gradually found their voices, a woodpecker echoed from the nearby trees, runners passed on the road below, and even a deer made a brief appearance before disappearing into the field behind the house.
The weather once again proved nearly perfect. As the morning progressed, the sun climbed higher above the horizon, casting dramatic light and shadow across the landscape while wisps of clouds drifted overhead. By early afternoon the temperature had climbed into the low 80s under brilliant blue skies dotted with white clouds.creating one of those summer days that seems almost too beautiful to spend indoors.
Much of the morning was spent with Fran's cousin, Frank, who had stayed overnight. We shared breakfast and conversation, some of it quite spirited. As often happens when politics enters the discussion, we discovered that our opinions did not always align.
Frank later departed to visit an old high school friend before continuing on to a family gathering near Champion, Pennsylvania, where he would spend the weekend with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren before returning here Sunday evening.
One of yesterday's highlights continued to occupy my thoughts throughout today. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach my sister-in-law by phone, Frank and I decided to take a chance and stop by her house. To our surprise she was home, and even more surprising, she immediately recognized Frank despite the fact that the two had not seen each other for many years. Watching them reconnect and share memories reminded me how enduring family bonds can be, even after decades apart.
Perhaps the most meaningful event of the past twenty-four hours occurred after dinner last evening. Shortly after enjoying a homemade white pizza, Frank retrieved a large envelope from his car filled with old family photographs and newspaper clippings. As we sorted through them, I found myself identifying faces and recalling names from years gone by.
Two particular photographs immediately captured my attention.
The first showed five-year-old Francine Serwonski standing proudly beside a Lions Club official after winning first prize in a local amateur contest. According to the newspaper article, she had performed a song-and-dance routine to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Seeing Fran as a smiling little girl, long before I ever knew her, was both touching and fascinating.
The second clipping featured Fran as a Norwin High School senior and semifinalist in a Junior Miss competition. Looking at the photograph, I could easily recognize the young woman who would eventually become my wife.
Although the original images were newspaper reproductions and of poor quality, modern restoration techniques were able to dramatically improve them. Seeing those seventy-year-old images revitalized felt nothing short of miraculous. For a moment, it was as if time itself had been reversed, allowing me to meet younger versions of Fran that existed long before our paths crossed.
The experience left me reflecting on the stories hidden within old photographs. A simple newspaper clipping preserves only a moment in time, yet behind that moment lies an entire life story. The little girl proudly accepting a prize and the young woman posing for a senior photograph could never have imagined the life that awaited them.
Today served as another reminder that even after sharing more than fifty years together, there are still new pieces of Fran's story waiting to be discovered.
Sometimes those discoveries arrive unexpectedly in an old envelope carried from the trunk of a cousin's car.
As I sit here this evening reflecting on the day, I find myself grateful for beautiful weather, family connections, unexpected reunions, and treasured photographs that somehow survived the passage of time. What began as an ordinary summer day became something far more meaningful, a day of memories, rediscovery, and a few small miracles.
Reflections on Generosity, Frustration, and Perspective
Today turned out to be a beautiful early June day, one that should have been easy to enjoy from the deck overlooking the field behind the house. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, accented by scattered white clouds drifting lazily overhead. Yet despite the beauty of the afternoon, I found myself carrying a fair amount of frustration.
Much of that frustration centered around the new 2026 Toyota Corolla XSE I recently purchased for my son. When the car was first delivered, I was pleased with it. It checked many of the boxes I had hoped for, and I felt good knowing that my son would soon have a safe, reliable vehicle to replace the one he has been driving for years, a car with more than 300,000 miles on it and held together in places with little more than determination and duct tape.
It wasn't until later that I noticed something missing. As I moved the car in the driveway to make room for company, I realized there were no floor mats inside. Considering the vehicle carried a hefty sticker price, that struck me as odd. After thinking about it overnight and most of the following day, I called the dealership. I was told the car had arrived with floor mats installed, but because they were not listed on the invoice, they had been removed.
That explanation did little to improve my mood. Having purchased both my Avalon and this Corolla from the same dealership within the past year, I couldn't help but feel that removing a set of floor mats to potentially sell separately was shortsighted and unnecessary. After spending quite a substantial amount of money (They were both cash transactions) with the dealership over the past twelve months, I felt that leaving the mats in the vehicle would have been a small gesture of goodwill.
The conversation also brought another irritation back to the surface.
When the salesman delivered the car, I presented him with a card and several oversized chocolate-dipped strawberries for his daughter. It was something I chose to do simply because I thought it might brighten a young girl's day. I expected nothing in return. Later, however, I called him with one small request. I asked if he would take a photograph of his daughter when she received the berries and card. I thought it would be enjoyable to see her reaction and know that the surprise had accomplished its purpose.
The photograph never came.
It wasn't the absence of the picture itself that bothered me. Rather, it was the feeling that a simple request had been forgotten or overlooked. Looking back, I realize I wasn't seeking recognition or repayment. I simply wanted to share in a small moment of happiness that I had hoped to create.
As the day went on, I found myself reflecting not only on the dealership and the salesman, but on how differently people sometimes approach relationships and kindness. I tend to put a great deal of thought into the things I do for others, whether it's sharing food, giving away vegetables from the garden, baking for friends, or offering small surprises when the opportunity arises. Perhaps because of that, I occasionally expect a similar level of consideration in return.
Still, after evaluating the situation and reviewing the paperwork, it appears I received a reasonably fair deal on the Corolla itself. The negotiated price was nearly $1,000 below MSRP, and while the cost of a new car still seems astonishing to someone who remembers buying his first house for less, the reality is that times have changed. Today's vehicles offer technology, safety, comfort, and reliability that would have seemed unimaginable decades ago.
As evening approached, I decided it was time to let the frustration go.
The smooth jazz was already playing softly through the speakers. A fresh margarita emerged from the blender. The sky remained beautiful, the air comfortable, and the deck offered the same peaceful refuge it always has.
Most importantly, my son now has a dependable vehicle that should serve him well for many years to come. When viewed from that perspective, the floor mats, the missing photograph, and the aggravation of the day begin to seem much smaller.
Tonight I intend to enjoy the music, enjoy the evening, and be thankful for the things that truly matter.
June 6, 2026
Saturday, June 6
The day began at 6:46 AM under skies that offered little reason for optimism. Temperatures were a comfortable 66 degrees with a light breeze from the south, but the horizon was dominated by thick gray clouds. The forecast called for cloudy conditions throughout the day with a 75 percent chance of rain by mid-afternoon, creating doubt about whether the fishing trip my son, Bob, and I had discussed would ever materialize.
Despite the gloomy weather, I found myself feeling considerably better than I had in several days. A combination of a good night's sleep and medication prescribed by my physician appeared to be easing much of the discomfort associated with the UTI that had been troubling me. I had fallen asleep in my recliner around 9 PM the previous evening, slept soundly until approximately 1 AM, moved to bed, and quickly returned to sleep until 5:30 AM. Considering the restless nights of recent weeks, that alone felt like a blessing.
As the morning progressed, the sky slowly began to change. By 7:03 AM, sunlight was beginning to filter through breaks in the cloud cover, although darker clouds remained visible to the south and west. The weather still appeared uncertain, but the landscape was noticeably brighter.
While sitting on the deck with coffee in hand, I decided to revisit an old piece of photographic equipment. For years, my Nikon D7100 DSLR has spent much of its time resting nearby rather than being used regularly. The camera remains capable, but its size and weight make it less convenient than simply reaching for my iPhone. Remembering that I owned a Nikon wireless adapter, I decided to see if I could establish a connection between the camera and my phone.
The adapter successfully created its own wireless network and connected to the Nikon Wireless Mobile Utility app. I was able to view the camera's live image on my phone and remotely trigger the shutter. Unfortunately, the process quickly evolved into a lengthy troubleshooting session. Although photographs were being captured and saved correctly on the camera, newly taken images refused to appear within the app. Over the course of several hours I experimented with RAW and JPEG settings, memory card configurations, wireless connections, and various camera settings. While I never fully solved the mystery, I did confirm that the camera, adapter, and app were communicating. The transfer of newly captured images, however, remains unresolved and may simply be a compatibility issue between older Nikon technology and modern devices.
As frustration with the camera began to grow, Fran's dear friend Nancy called. We spent approximately twenty minutes talking, and the conversation proved to be a welcome interruption. Sometimes a phone call arrives at exactly the right moment.
By 9:30 AM, the weather had undergone a dramatic transformation. The temperature had climbed to 75 degrees, the sun was shining brightly, and the clouds that had dominated the early morning hours were rapidly breaking apart. The view from the deck looked entirely different from the bleak horizon I had observed only a few hours earlier.
Around 1 PM, my son arrived along with his wife, my granddaughter, and one of her friends. All were eager to see the new car. Their reaction seemed overwhelmingly positive, and I was pleased to see how much everyone liked it.
My daughter-in-law, granddaughter, and her friend later left to pick up my daughter-in-law's mother before heading to a concert in Pittsburgh scheduled for this evening. Around 3 PM, my daughter and son-in-law stopped by to visit and spend some time with my son.
During our conversation, I remembered a DVD slideshow I had created years ago featuring photographs from a memorable trip Fran and I took to Aruba. I thought my daughter and son-in-law would enjoy seeing it. The DVD played perfectly on my computer, but when I attempted to play it through the DVD player connected to the living room television, it refused to cooperate. Despite considerable effort, various error messages appeared indicating that either the television or DVD player could not recognize the format. Eventually we gave up, deciding it would become a project for another day.
Later, my son and I drove to Walmart to purchase some fishing gear. Before we even arrived, his phone rang. His wife informed him that the concert had been canceled due to storm warnings. Needless to say, everyone who had planned to attend was disappointed.
Not long afterward, the weather forecast finally proved correct. Shortly after 3:30 PM, the skies opened up and rain began falling in sheets rather than drops. Strong winds accompanied the storm, creating quite a spectacle. The downpour continued until approximately 6 PM before gradually moving out of the area.
During the storm, my son received a call from my brother-in-law and sister-in-law inviting us to join them for dinner at a local restaurant. I wasn't particularly interested in going out at the time, but encouraged my son to go if he wished. He accepted the invitation and spent a couple of hours enjoying dinner with them before returning home.
By the time he returned, the weather had once again completely changed. The rain had disappeared, the clouds had moved on, and sunshine had returned.
Shortly afterward, I suggested a trip to the Country Cottage Creamery, a small frozen custard stand located a few miles from my home. Fran and I had been visiting the creamery for years. While many people might think frozen custard is simply another form of ice cream, those who have tasted it know there is a significant difference.
When we arrived, the parking lot was packed and cars seemed to be everywhere. Nevertheless, we got in line, placed our orders, enjoyed our frozen custard, and eventually returned home.
The evening ended quietly. My son stretched out on the couch while I settled into my recliner. I turned on the television and before long drifted off to sleep. The first time I awoke, it was around 9 PM. Looking over at the couch, I noticed my son was no longer there and assumed he had wisely decided to head to bed. I closed my eyes and returned to sleep.
When I finally awoke again, it was 1:30 Sunday morning.
Looking back on the day, very little unfolded according to plan. The fishing trip never happened. The concert was canceled. The Aruba DVD refused to play. The camera adapter never fully cooperated. Yet somehow the day still felt successful. Family visited, conversations were shared, memories were revisited, storms came and went, frozen custard was enjoyed, and for perhaps the first time in quite a while, I found myself sleeping comfortably.
June 7, 2026
My day began far earlier than I would have preferred. At approximately 5:29 AM, despite having gone to bed only about three hours earlier, I was awakened by another muscle spasm in my legs. A fter making my way into the kitchen, I noticed light coming from beneath the bathroom door and realized my son was already awake and preparing for his trip home.
Opening the patio door revealed a gray, cloud-filled sky. While not exactly the sunrise I had hoped for, the forecast called for clearing later in the morning, so I remained optimistic.
By 5:58 AM, my son had departed for North Carolina. Saying goodbye was somewhat bittersweet and emotional. I managed to maintain my composure, not wanting to become overly emotional as he prepared for the seven-and-a-half to eight-hour drive ahead of him. As always, I reminded him to drive carefully and not concern himself with all the new features of the car until he arrived home safely.
Watching him leave brought a mix of pride and sadness. J ust yesterday, the house had been filled with family and excitement surrounding his new car. This morning, the quiet had returned.
As dawn progressed, the weather slowly began to improve. The clouds gradually surrendered portions of the sky, revealing increasing amounts of blue.
After removing the water left behind by last night's rain, drying off the deck furniture, replacing the cushions, and topping off my coffee cup, I settled back into my customary seat at the table on the deck.
By 7:11 AM, the transformation was remarkable. Sunshine illuminated the field behind the house, long shadows stretched across the landscape, and the old haymaker had once again taken command of the morning.
At some point during the morning, I remembered that my latest batch of granola bars required updated labels. Since I had modified the recipe and removed all nuts, I decided to create a new variety inspired by my daughter Kimberly, who particularly enjoyed this version.
The new label reads:
Morning Watch Granola Bar: Kim's Choice Apples, Raisins & Cinnamon
The bars contain toasted oats, honey, graham cracker crumbs, butter, diced apples, raisins, brown sugar, a touch of granulated sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of salt. Judging from how quickly they have been disappearing, they appear to have been well received.
One of the things I enjoy most about making these bars is that once the basic framework is established, the possibilities become nearly endless. Different fruits, spices, nuts, seeds, and flavorings can create entirely new varieties from the same basic recipe.
As the morning continued, I received confirmation that an old friend I have not seen in several years plans to stop by this evening while he is in town. His wife passed away many years ago, far too young, and during our conversation last evening we briefly discussed the loss of our spouses. At one point I told him something that I have come to understand all too well:
"It changes everything."
I am also considering inviting my friend Bob to stop by, since he and this friend have known each other for many years. It may make for a very enjoyable evening of conversation, coffee, and perhaps a drink or two.
As the morning watch continued, thoughts eventually turned toward dinner. Since Frank purchased pizza for us when he arrived, I felt inclined to return the favor. Being a full-blooded Italian, he naturally appreciates Italian cuisine, and I began contemplating a light pasta dish featuring fresh zucchini, mushrooms, onions, shrimp, garlic, and perhaps a lemon-garlic aioli style finish rather than a heavy tomato sauce.
At approximately 9:45 AM, while sitting on the deck enjoying the sunshine and reflecting on the day, Herb Alpert's "I'll Remember You" began playing through the house and drifting outdoors.
The music immediately stirred emotions.
I found myself thinking about Fran and how proud and happy she would have been to witness our son's reaction upon picking up the car. Truthfully, helping him get the car was something that seems much more like something Fran would have suggested than something I would have ever considered on my own.
As I reflected on this contradiction, another thought occurred to me. Perhaps the reason I did it was because after fifty-three years together, some of Fran's generosity, compassion, and priorities had become part of me as well, and perhaps, just perhaps, she witnessed the entire thing and smiled.
Whether that thought comes from my right brain overpowering my left brain or not, it brought me comfort.
As I sit here now, coffee in hand, sunshine filling the landscape, and anticipation building for visits from old friends later today, I cannot help but feel grateful for this beautiful morning and the many memories, reflections, and blessings it has already provided.
Afternoon Reflections
It was 2:21 PM when I returned home after dropping off some food to Nancy, one of Fran's closest and dearest friends.
Since Fran's cousin Frank will be returning later today to spend the night, I had already prepared dinner for the three of us. Frank actually called about an hour before I left and offered to take me out to dinner, but I had to decline because another longtime friend from Maryland, whose wife passed away many years ago, was planning to stop by for a visit this evening.
Today's meal was really a creation born from whatever happened to be available in the house. Remembering that Nancy had once mentioned being on a gluten-free diet, I decided to prepare her portion over Arborio rice rather than pasta.
The dish consisted of zucchini, onions, mushrooms, spinach, fire-roasted tomatoes, and shrimp, all brought together with olive oil, butter, garlic, basil, and Italian seasonings in a light garlic-infused sauce. After plating, I topped each serving with several large shrimp and a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese.
When I delivered the meal, Nancy laughed and told me she couldn't believe I remembered her gluten-free diet. She then explained that doctors had since determined the diet wasn't making any difference and that she could have eaten the pasta. I told her that regardless, I hoped she enjoyed the Arborio rice because I had sampled it beforehand and thought it turned out quite well.
Dessert accompanied the meal as well. I packed a generous slice of strawberry pie, although it suffered a bit of an unfortunate mishap when it slipped off the spatula while I was transferring it into the container. Along with the pie, I included a couple of chocolate-dipped strawberries filled with a whipped cream and cream cheese mixture.
Knowing how much Nancy enjoys camping and hiking, I also included three of my homemade granola bars. They appeared to be a success. Before I left, she opened one and had it eaten in just a couple of minutes.
While visiting, Nancy's first husband, also a longtime friend of mine, and their daughter were there. We spent some time chatting, and I couldn't help but think about how quickly time passes. I can still remember when their daughter was born, and now she is a grown woman with a child of her own. She has always been an exceptionally kind, considerate, and pleasant person, qualities she undoubtedly inherited from both of her parents.
As I drove home, I found myself reflecting on how simple acts of sharing food often become opportunities to share friendship, memories, and connection as well.
A Day of Good Food, Good Friends, and Gratitude
Today proved to be both exhausting and rewarding, filled with simple pleasures and meaningful connections.
The morning began around 9:30 AM when I returned indoors and created new labels for the nut-free granola bars I made yesterday. After wrapping and labeling the bars, I turned my attention to preparing dinner for the evening.
Sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 PM, I delivered the food to Nancy. It felt good knowing she would have a homemade meal prepared with her dietary needs in mind.
Throughout the day, I found myself appreciating just how beautiful the weather was. At one point I stepped onto the deck with a margarita in hand and took in one of the most breathtaking blue skies I can remember seeing. A gentle breeze drifted across the deck, the temperature hovered near 80 degrees, smooth jazz played softly in the background, and for a moment I simply sat and enjoyed the day.
My thoughts were simple: life is good.
Later in the afternoon, Fran's cousin Frank returned to the house, and shortly afterward my longtime friend Syl stopped by. The three of us spent several hours engaged in lively conversation covering just about every topic imaginable. It was one of those visits where the hours seem to disappear.
After Syl left around 6:00 PM, I warmed the sauce, cooked the pasta, and by approximately 6:30 PM Frank and I were seated on the deck enjoying dinner together. The conversation continued long after the meal and cleanup were finished.
Around 9:00 PM we moved indoors, settled into comfortable chairs, turned on the television, and before long both of us drifted off. I awoke shortly after midnight, finding Frank asleep on the couch and myself once again reflecting on the day.
Looking back, the day was centered around many of the things that matter most: preparing food for others, helping a friend, enjoying the company of old friends, appreciating a beautiful summer day, and recognizing that even after difficult times, there are still moments when life feels rich, rewarding, and deeply satisfying.
June 8, 2026
Gobblers, Good Friends, and a Perfect Pennsylvania Day
This morning began much as many of my favorite mornings do, with a cup of coffee in hand and a quiet watch from the deck, as the day slowly unfolded around me.
At approximately 7:11 AM, the peaceful silence was interrupted by an unexpected pair of visitors. Two wild turkey gobblers emerged from the field behind the house and made their way across the road. They were making quite a racket as they traveled, their familiar gobbles echoing through the neighborhood.
Watching them strut across the landscape provided a welcome bit of entertainment and another reminder of how fortunate I am to enjoy so much wildlife around the house.
As the morning progressed, the weather continued to be nothing short of spectacular. The sunshine illuminated the landscape while long shadows stretched across the yard. Upon completing about a three hour moring watch, Frank and I headed indoors.
Around 11 o'clock he left for Greensburg to visit an old friend while I stayed behind, cleaned up a few dishes from last night's dinner and breakfast, and then returned to my favorite seat on the deck.
Todays weather has been extraordinary. Days like this are uncommon in Western Pennsylvania, yet somehow we've experienced more than a dozen beautiful days over the past couple of weeks. The sky was brilliantly blue, the air warm, and a steady breeze kept everything comfortable.
Frank had suggested taking me out to dinner this evening. I initially reminded him that most restaurants are closed on Mondays, but after doing a little research I found two Italian restaurants that were open, including one only a couple of miles from the house. A small Italian restaurant that Fran and I had frequented numerous times, and one that we had used to cater some larger family gatherings. We decided on dinner around five o'clock, followed by a trip to Country Custard for frozen custard and conversation afterward.
Shortly after 1 PM, my brother-in-law Paul stopped by carrying photographs from the recent trip he and his wife had taken through Spain, France, and Italy. The photographs were absolutely beautiful. There were probably close to one hundred images, each accompanied by stories and details about their travels.
For a little while I felt as though I was taking a tour of Europe without ever leaving the deck.
Paul had also hoped to see Frank since he is also Paul's first cousin as well, but unfortunately Frank was out visiting a friend in Greensburg. Paul was disappointed that they didn't get a chance to catch up. I invited Paul and my sister-in-law to join us for dinner, but they had already made plans of their own.
By mid-afternoon I was once again seated beneath the deck umbrella, coffee cup nearby, smooth jazz playing softly, and enjoying every moment of the day. Around 3 PM, just as the forecast had predicted, a few thin clouds began drifting into the area. They did little more than add interest and texture to an already beautiful sky. The breeze continued moving through the trees while the temperature hovered around 84 degrees, making it remarkably comfortable for early June.
At approximately 3:37 PM, Fran's friend Nancy called. She was absolutely thrilled with the dinner I had delivered to her yesterday. She spent several minutes describing how much she had enjoyed everything and claimed she still had enough food left for two more meals. I laughed and told her she must not eat very much because I could have easily finished the entire plate in one sitting.
Her enthusiasm was rewarding to hear. I've always enjoyed preparing food for others, and hearing how much she appreciated the meal brought a smile to my face.
As Nancy and I were finishing our conversation, Frank suddenly appeared at the top of the deck steps looking somewhat anxious. He had returned from Greensburg and discovered that the front door was locked. Although he knew the garage code and managed to get into the garage, he quickly discovered that the door leading into the house was locked as well.
Unfortunately, he had a very urgent need to use the bathroom.
After finally making it inside, he informed me that he had come dangerously close to relieving himself in the front yard. Thankfully disaster was avoided.
Following his adventure, Frank announced that he was going to lie down and rest for a while after spending much of the day visiting his friend. Assuming he doesn't fall asleep too deeply, we're still planning to head out for dinner and frozen custard later this evening.
As I write this, I remain seated at the table on the deck. The breeze continues to blow, the jazz continues to play, and my coffee cup somehow keeps finding its way back to the kitchen for another refill.
There are only so many truly perfect summer days in a lifetime, and this one certainly feels like one worth remembering.
Thus far today has provided the makings of a very complete blog entry already. The day has a natural progression: morning wildlife, beautiful weather, travel stories from Paul, appreciation from Nancy, a little comedy courtesy of Frank, and the anticipation of dinner and frozen custard to close things out.
It feels like a rich day without ever being a busy one, which is often the best kind.
June 9, 2026
A Day of Sunshine, Gardening, Good News, and Disappointment
The day began at 6:25 AM beneath a mostly gray sky. Although the forecast called for considerable cloudiness and possible rain later in the day, there were already hints that the sun might eventually win out. Temperatures were a comfortable 66 degrees with a light breeze, making for another pleasant morning on the deck.
Sleep had been somewhat unusual. After sleeping in the recliner until around 3:00 AM, I woke briefly at 5:30, managed another short stretch of sleep, and finally began my day around 6:00. Despite the late hour, I believe I accumulated nearly eight hours of sleep between the recliner and my bed, something that has become increasingly rare.
Frank was still asleep when I began my morning watch, but he had planned to leave around 10:00 AM. I also had a postoperative appointment scheduled with the surgeon who performed my hernia surgery.
As the morning progressed, the sky began to change. By 6:46 AM, the sun had managed to break through openings in the clouds and could be seen filtering through the branches of the pine trees. Long shadows stretched across the lawn as sunlight gradually transformed what initially appeared destined to be a gloomy morning.
By 8:59 AM, the forecast seemed increasingly questionable. The sun had climbed well above the trees, illuminating the landscape and casting a welcome warmth across the deck. Several trips inside to refill my coffee cup did little to keep me away from my chair overlooking the backyard. Smooth jazz drifted from the wireless speaker on the table while I continued my morning watch, enjoying the changing light and appreciating the simple pleasures of coffee, sunshine, and solitude.
At approximately 8:30 AM, Frank packed up and headed home. It was nice having company for several days. Sharing meals, conversations, drives through the countryside, and simply having another person in the house provided a welcome change of pace. At the same time, I found myself appreciating the return of the quiet and tranquility that have become such an important part of my daily routine.
Before he left, I sent him home with several heads of fresh lettuce from the garden and a selection of homemade granola bars for the trip. Hopefully both will be enjoyed.
The postoperative appointment proved encouraging. The surgeon indicated that everything appears to be healing properly and was pleased with my progress. His primary concern remains lifting restrictions. For the next three to four weeks, I am not to lift anything heavier than ten pounds.
While that sounds simple enough, it presents challenges during gardening season when many routine tasks involve lifting, carrying, and moving things. Still, it was reassuring to hear that the surgery appears to have been successful and that recovery is proceeding as expected.
After leaving the doctor's office around 11:30 AM, I drove to a greenhouse located about fifteen or twenty minutes away. There I purchased eight tomato plants, a sage plant, and four pots of bush beans.
Returning home around 1:30 PM, I spent a short time on the deck with a cold drink, hoping temperatures might cool off. They didn't. Eventually I retreated indoors and took a nap for about an hour.
Upon awakening, I gathered enough motivation and energy to head out to the garden where I planted everything I had purchased earlier in the day. By late afternoon, another section of the garden had been completed and the new plants were settled into their new home.
At approximately 5:30 PM, I returned to my chair on the deck. Considerable cloud cover had moved in during the afternoon, though a warm breeze made the evening comfortable. The day was beginning to wind down, and beyond preparing something light for dinner, I had no particular plans for the evening.
Unfortunately, the day ended with a disappointing discovery.
While passing through the garage after finishing my gardening chores, I noticed the seed-starting box I had built several years ago. Inside were nearly one hundred seedlings that I had started during mid-April and early May. Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, and squash had all been growing under the care of grow lights and regular watering.
Or at least they had been.
Somewhere amid Frank's visit, another friend's visit, concern over my son-in-law's injury, preparing meals for others, recovering from surgery, battling a UTI, and dealing with weeks of poor sleep, I simply forgot about them.
The result was heartbreaking. Nearly every seedling had died.
I was angry with myself when I discovered them. Weeks of effort and anticipation had disappeared because I neglected something that only required a few minutes of attention each day. Yet when I stepped back and considered everything that has occurred over the last several weeks, I realized those seedlings became casualties of an unusually busy and stressful period.
The loss is disappointing, but there is little to be gained by dwelling on it. Gardens, much like life itself, offer second chances. Ironically, on the very same day I discovered the loss of nearly one hundred seedlings, I planted eight new tomato plants, sage, and bush beans.
The season continues.
As the evening approaches, I find myself grateful for a favorable report from the surgeon, another peaceful morning watch, the companionship of family and friends, and the opportunity to continue working in the garden. Not every part of the day went according to plan, but perhaps that's true of most worthwhile days.
Evening Reflections – June 9, 2026
At approximately 7:00 PM, after finishing a late dinner consisting of leftovers from the meal I had prepared for Frank on Sunday evening, I found myself laughing at just how much food I had made. Frank and I both enjoyed generous portions Sunday night, Nancy received a generous helping Sunday afternoon, I had some for lunch yesterday, another substantial serving for dinner this evening, and there's still enough remaining in the refrigerator for at least one more meal.
After dinner, I returned to my familiar seat at the table on the deck with a fresh cup of coffee and smooth jazz playing softly in the background. To my delight, the clouds that had occupied much of the sky earlier in the day were beginning to clear, revealing patches of blue sky and some beautiful cloud formations. The evening warmth, the changing light, and the peaceful surroundings made for a particularly pleasant end to the day.
As I sat there enjoying the evening, I was reminded of another mistake I had to deal with today.
When I purchased my son's car, I wrote two rather large checks. The first was for the deposit when I signed the paperwork. The second, written several days later after transferring money from my money market account into checking, was for the remaining balance.
Unfortunately, I transferred the money into one checking account and then wrote the check from a different one.
My bank had attempted to contact me yesterday, but I missed the call and only received a voicemail indicating there was an issue with one of my accounts. When I returned the call today, I assumed they were simply verifying a large withdrawal. Instead, they informed me that the second check I had written did not have sufficient funds in the account from which it had been drawn.
The money was available, just sitting in the wrong account.
While on the phone, I transferred the funds to the proper account and quickly resolved the problem. Once everything was straightened out, I couldn't help but shake my head and wonder how I managed to make such a mistake. What I found surprising, however, was that I still haven't heard a word from the dealership.
The incident led me to reflect on aging and memory.
I've occasionally found myself putting items in the refrigerator that didn't belong there, or placing refrigerated items where they certainly shouldn't be. I've also experienced something that has been happening for years: walking into a room with a specific purpose in mind only to arrive and completely forget why I went there in the first place.
The banking error, combined with these occasional lapses, briefly had me wondering whether I should be concerned about something more serious.
After giving it some thought, however, I realized that many of these experiences aren't new at all. The "walking into a room and forgetting why" routine has been with me for years, and putting things in odd places from time to time is something most people seem to do.
Still, I couldn't help but think about how difficult getting older can be. When I was younger, I imagined aging mostly involved gray hair and a few extra aches and pains. The reality is far more complicated. There are physical changes, memory lapses, emotional adjustments, and the realization that tasks which once seemed effortless now require more attention.
Perhaps the most difficult part is facing these challenges without Fran beside me. For more than fifty years, we shared responsibilities, double-checked one another's oversights, and navigated life's problems together. Now when I make a mistake, there's no one across the table smiling and telling me not to be so hard on myself.
As daylight slowly faded into evening and the sky continued its transformation overhead, I found myself reflecting on all of it, the mistakes, the memories, the challenges of growing older, and the simple pleasure of sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee and smooth jazz playing softly in the background.
Growing older is certainly proving to be more difficult than I ever imagined, but evenings like this remind me that there is still much beauty to be found along the way.
June 10, 2026
The day began much as many recent nights have ended. After falling asleep in the recliner shortly after turning on the television, I awoke around 1:00 AM and made my way to bed. Although I slept reasonably well for several hours, the final hour or so before getting up was spent drifting in and out of sleep. By 5:50 AM I was out of bed and immediately knew, from the light filtering through the bedroom curtains, that it was going to be a gloomy morning.
Overnight rain had left the deck soaked, and the forecast was calling for clouds, rain, humidity, and temperatures reaching the mid-80s. Looking out through the patio doors, there was little indication that the day would become anything special. The landscape, however, was strikingly green. The rain had washed everything clean, and despite the gray skies, the grass, trees, and garden appeared refreshed and vibrant.
Yesterday's plans to set up my GoPro to capture one of my morning watches suddenly seemed almost comical. After finally charging the camera, locating a tripod, and preparing everything for a sunrise recording, Mother Nature responded by covering the sky with a thick blanket of clouds.
I also spent part of the morning thinking about several projects that I had intended to tackle. My daughter recently dug up a number of irises that had become too large around her home and gave them to me. The plants were boxed and waiting to be replanted. I had also planned to test the deck cleaning and restoration product I recently purchased. Neither project seemed especially appealing given the wet conditions and humid air.
At one point I stepped outside to photograph the garden and was surprised at how much the zucchini plants appeared to have grown overnight. Whether they had actually doubled in size or not, they certainly looked larger, healthier, and remarkably clean after the rain.
The morning also included a classic senior moment. After refilling my coffee and returning to the deck, I realized my phone was missing. I searched the house for nearly twenty minutes before finally calling it from the landline. The ringing quickly revealed its location, in my pocket.
Another task involved investigating a shed door that I noticed standing open. Having seen a skunk wandering the property recently, I was concerned something might have taken up residence inside.
After cautiously approaching the shed, making plenty of noise, and looking around, I found no evidence of any unwanted tenants. The only casualty was a pair of shoes soaked by the wet grass.
A call to the bank regarding a money market account proved less productive. Earlier information suggested the account might pay approximately 4.2% interest, considerably more than my current account. However, when I contacted my local branch, they knew very little about the product. More importantly, no one could tell me whether the rate was promotional or how long it would remain in effect. Without clear answers, I decided not to pursue the matter further.
Later in the morning I drove to several stores in search of black cherry tomato plants but came home empty-handed. While out, I stopped at a home improvement center to look at patio doors. The visit turned out to be worthwhile. I discovered that high-quality Andersen patio doors could be purchased for significantly less than the prices quoted by specialty companies. The experience left me considering whether a hinged French style door or a sliding glass door might best suit my needs.
During the drive I found myself amused by a pair of advertising trucks. A U-Haul truck displayed a realistic image on the rear door that initially made me think the cargo door was standing open.
Within no more than ten minutes later, I found myself behind a bakery truck with similarly realistic graphics.
Both caught my attention and provided a few laughs.
By early afternoon the weather had completely transformed. What began as a dreary, rainy morning evolved into a beautiful summer day. Blue skies emerged, large cumulus clouds drifted overhead, and a pleasant breeze made sitting on the deck enjoyable once again. It served as a reminder that first impressions, whether of weather or people, are not always accurate.
The day also prompted considerable reflection about expectations, mistakes, and human nature. Conversations with Fran's cousin Frank and memories of Fran herself resurfaced. Frank once observed that I often see the world as I think it should be rather than as it actually is. At the time I resisted the idea, but the more I considered it, the more truth I found in his observation. Fran often told me something similar throughout our marriage.
That discussion reminded me of a humorous story from many years ago in the Poconos. A builder I worked for was criticizing his stepson for making the same mistake twice. The young man finally responded, "I'm not the only one who makes the same mistake twice. You got married again, didn't you?" The remark left everyone speechless before dissolving into laughter.
As evening approached, I once again considered planting the irises waiting below the deck. I even walked into the house intending to change clothes and get to work. nstead, I returned to my chair with another cup of coffee. The breeze was pleasant, the sky was beautiful, and motivation was nowhere to be found. In the end, I decided the irises would survive another day.
The final chapter of the day involved my aging GoPro Hero 3 Black camera. Several weeks ago I had spent considerable time trying to connect it to my iPhone. Eventually I succeeded in getting a live image from the camera to appear on the phone, although transferring video files directly remained problematic.
This evening I decided to revisit the challenge.
At first, nothing seemed to work. The camera and phone would connect briefly and then immediately disconnect. I turned the camera off and on repeatedly, cycled the Wi-Fi settings, and retraced troubleshooting steps I had previously used. For a while it appeared the camera was determined to win the battle.
Then, without any obvious explanation, it suddenly began working again.
I have no idea what changed. Perhaps one of the many power cycles reset something internally. Perhaps the camera simply decided to cooperate. Whatever the reason, I once again had communication between the GoPro and my iPhone.
The experience seemed oddly fitting given the rest of the day. The weather forecast proved inaccurate. The shed contained no skunks. The missing phone was in my pocket. The promising money market account turned out to be less appealing upon closer examination. Now an older camera that refused to cooperate suddenly began working again.
As the evening came to a close, I found myself sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee, a functioning GoPro, a box of unplanted irises, and a renewed appreciation for how unpredictable life can be.
What began beneath dark clouds and steady rain concluded with sunshine, blue skies, laughter, memories, and the realization that:
sometimes things work out even when there appears to be no logical reason why they should.
JUNE 11, 2026
Thursday Morning Watch – From Rain-Soaked Dawn to a Windy Summer Afternoon
I managed about five hours of sleep last night before waking around 5:00 AM. After making a brief and unsuccessful attempt to fall back asleep, I finally gave up, got out of bed, and began my day. A glance out the bedroom window wasn't particularly encouraging. The sky appeared gloomy, and it was obvious that overnight weather had left its mark.
After turning on the coffee maker, taking care of the usual morning necessities, and making the bed, I made my way to the kitchen. As I approached the patio door, it became apparent that we had received a decent amount of rain during the night. I don't specifically remember hearing rain, although I do vaguely recall some distant thunder.
The forecast called for a brief period of sunshine early this morning. followed by a mix of sun and clouds before additional rain was expected later in the day. At 6:00 AM the temperature was already around 70 degrees with a predicted high of 85 degrees. The combination of warmth and lingering moisture suggested that humidity would likely become a factor before the day was over.
Before settling in for my morning watch, I headed outside and cleared standing water from the deck and patio furniture. Judging by the amount of water collected on the deck surface and furniture, the overnight rain had been more substantial than I originally realized.
By 7:00 AM the sky began changing rapidly. What had been mostly cloud cover started breaking apart, allowing sunlight to filter through. Within minutes patches of blue sky appeared overhead, and the landscape began taking on a completely different character. Although the humidity remained quite noticeable, a light breeze developed and made conditions far more comfortable than they had been earlier.
As the morning progressed, I found myself getting hungry. Yesterday my friend Bob mentioned the possibility of breakfast, but since I hadn't heard from him, I decided to take matters into my own hands. With only two slices of bread remaining in the package, one of them being the heel of the loaf, I prepared a simple breakfast of French toast.
The recipe evolved into a bit of an experiment. I used one whole egg along with two additional egg yolks left over from recent baking projects. A splash of heavy cream, a touch of baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg transformed what might have been an ordinary breakfast into something surprisingly rich and flavorful. The extra yolks created a custard-like texture that elevated the dish far beyond my expectations.
Coffee in hand, I returned to the deck and enjoyed the increasingly pleasant morning. By 8:30 AM the sun had climbed high enough to create striking geometric shadows from the deck railings. The repeating lines of light and dark stretched diagonally across the deck boards, creating patterns that immediately caught my attention. As someone with a lifelong appreciation for art and design, I found myself fascinated by the temporary composition being painted by nothing more than sunlight and shadow.
Eventually I decided to tackle a gardening project. My daughter had recently brought over two boxes of iris rhizomes, and I chose to plant them along the north side of the house. What began as a modest project quickly turned into a larger undertaking when I realized just how many rhizomes were packed into those boxes. Even after completing an entire flower bed, it became obvious that I still had enough remaining to plant several more areas. I may eventually have to find willing friends or neighbors interested in adopting some.
The north side of the house provided welcome shade while I worked, but as the morning wore on, the heat and humidity became increasingly noticeable. Digging, planting, bending, and moving around soon had me sweating profusely. Despite the discomfort, the newly planted iris bed looked neat and promising, and I could already imagine how beautiful it might become once the plants establish themselves and begin blooming in future years.
After finishing the planting project, I retreated indoors. The combination of physical work, rising temperatures, and humidity convinced me that additional outdoor projects could wait for another day. I settled into the recliner intending to watch a news program for a few minutes. Instead, I woke up roughly an hour and a half later, apparently the victim of a well-earned nap
.
After waking, I poured another cup of coffee and once again tested the outdoor conditions. The temperature had climbed to approximately 86 degrees. While the humidity seemed slightly lower than earlier, a strong and somewhat erratic wind had developed. Large trees at the rear of the property, including my familiar "portal trees," were swaying noticeably as gusts shifted direction. One moment the wind would blow steadily from one direction, only to stop and resume from another.
The forecast now calls for rain later this evening, accompanied by wind gusts approaching 22 miles per hour. Looking at the sky, I can certainly believe it. Towering white clouds continue to build against a brilliant blue backdrop, creating a dramatic summer landscape that feels balanced somewhere between sunshine and storm.
My final trip outdoors was really an attempt to determine whether more gardening might be possible later in the day. After a brief evaluation, I decided against it. The garden will still be there tomorrow. The weeds will wait. The flowers will survive another day without my attention.
For now, I am content to sit on the deck with a cup of coffee, watching clouds drift overhead and listening to the wind move through the trees. Some days are measured by accomplishments and completed projects. Others are measured by moments of observation, reflection, and appreciation. Today seems to have offered a healthy mixture of both.
At 3:58 PM, what began as an ordinary afternoon nap in the recliner came to an abrupt end when the phone rang. It was my daughter calling to ask if it was raining at my house. Since she lives only a few miles away, I jokingly replied that if it wasn't raining there yet, it probably would be soon.
Before I could even finish the sentence, the storm arrived.
Within moments, sheets of rain were sweeping across the deck, driven by powerful and unpredictable winds. The rain seemed to come from every direction at once. At times the gusts were so strong that the raindrops appeared to be traveling upward rather than falling from the sky. Thunder rolled overhead while lightning flashed through the gray afternoon, transforming an otherwise quiet day into a brief but dramatic display of nature's power.
As quickly as it arrived, the storm moved on. Perhaps ten minutes later the rain had stopped completely. The deck glistened with water, the trees stood dripping and motionless once again, and only distant thunder and occasional flashes of lightning hinted that the storm had not yet completely left the area.
The forecast is calling for rain throughout the evening, so this brief downpour is likely only the opening act. More showers and storms may still be waiting in the wings.
There was, however, one undeniable benefit. The garden and flowers received a thorough soaking, sparing me the task of hauling out the hose and watering everything myself. Now the concern shifts from too little water to too much. While the plants certainly appreciated today's rainfall, I can only hope the evening doesn't deliver enough additional rain to leave them standing in puddles.
For the moment, though, the air has cooled, the deck shines with fresh rainwater, and the landscape has taken on that rich green appearance that only a summer thunderstorm can provide.
June 12, 2026
From Dawn to Dusk
The day began shortly after 5:00 a.m. with the familiar ritual of turning on the coffee pot and making my way toward the patio doors. Upon opening the door, I was greeted by warm, humid air, but what immediately caught my attention was the sky.
Soft shades of lavender, pink, and violet stretched across the horizon while a delicate crescent moon hung faintly above it. The scene was peaceful and almost dreamlike, providing a beautiful beginning to what would become an extraordinary day.
As dawn progressed, large clouds slowly broke apart and drifted eastward while gentle smooth jazz played quietly from the kitchen. The music seemed perfectly suited to the unfolding sunrise, creating the impression that nature and soundtrack had somehow coordinated their efforts.
The old haymaker eventually announced its arrival by filtering sunlight through the boughs of the pine tree. Humidity remained high enough that after drying the deck furniture and tabletops with a squeegee and paper towels, moisture quickly began accumulating again. Despite the dampness, the morning remained comfortable and inviting.
A pleasant breeze arrived shortly before 7:00 a.m., carrying away some of the moisture and making the 71-degree air feel even more enjoyable. Although weather forecasters were predicting increasing clouds and possible afternoon thunderstorms, I remained skeptical, having learned over the years that Mother Nature frequently ignores the script.
As the sun climbed higher, my attention turned to the two tall locust trees I often refer to as the portal. The eastern side of the foliage glowed brilliantly as sunlight illuminated thousands of leaves, creating an almost luminous effect against the deep blue morning sky.
At 7:08 a.m., I received a text from my friend Bob confirming breakfast plans for 8:45 a.m. I had sought confirmation because his "little brother" Josh, whom he mentors through the Big Brothers Big Sisters program, has never been particularly enthusiastic about keeping track of schedules. Then again, neither were most of us at that age.
While continuing my observations from the deck, I noticed a cloud formation near the portal that looked remarkably like a feather drifting from the sky, quill side down. Whether it was simply a cloud or something more symbolic hardly mattered. For a brief moment it invited reflection and wonder.
By 7:28 a.m., the sky overhead had become populated with increasing numbers of delicate, feather-like clouds. They were not threatening, but they appeared to support the possibility that perhaps the weather forecast knew what it was talking about after all.
Afternoon Watch – Rain Delays and Changing Plans
After returning home from breakfast with Bob,
and running several errands, I had every intention of spending part of the afternoon repotting flowers that have been waiting for larger containers. Unfortunately, the heat and humidity had become quite oppressive by the time I arrived home, and the thought of digging in soil under those conditions was not particularly appealing.
Earlier in the day, after breakfast, I stopped at a nearby market where I discovered several 8-inch potted plants on sale for only six dollars each. Despite already having plenty of plants awaiting my attention, the bargain was too good to pass up, and before leaving the store three more found their way into my cart.
Following a stop at the drugstore to pick up a prescription and a quick trip to fill the gas tank, I returned home intending to rest briefly before tackling my gardening chores. That brief rest turned into a two-and-a-half-hour nap.
When I finally awoke around 2:30 PM and stepped onto the deck, I was greeted by a completely cloud-covered sky and noticeably lower humidity. The forecast clouds I had been hoping for had arrived, and I briefly thought my repotting project might still happen.
A quick check of the weather forecast changed those plans. Rain was expected within the hour along with wind gusts approaching 20 miles per hour. Within minutes I could feel raindrops beginning to fall. The repotting venture was postponed once again.
While considering alternative projects, I remembered the planter stand I had purchased about a week ago for the large planter on the back deck. It still needed to be assembled, and I began thinking perhaps that would become the afternoon's project instead.
The rain continued to increase. Heavy would be an exaggeration, but it became steady enough that water began pooling on the deck furniture. The table and chairs glistened with moisture while the deck boards darkened beneath the shower. It became clear that any outdoor planting would have to wait.
As often happens, Mother Nature wasn't finished changing her mind.
By 4:44 PM the rain had ended. After drying off the deck furniture for what was the second time today, I reclaimed my seat at the table and resumed my afternoon watch. The blue sky was steadily gaining ground as clouds drifted apart under the influence of a pleasant breeze. The transformation was remarkable, with patches of blue replacing what had been a solid blanket of gray only a short while earlier.
Once again I found myself debating whether to begin repotting the flowers.
Maybe I would.
Then again, maybe I wouldn't.
Evening Reflections – Garden Growth, Memories, and a Flowerpot's Call
By late afternoon, I decided to make my way down to the garden to see how things were progressing. Much to my delight, everything appears to be thriving.
The lettuce is abundant,
the squash plants seem intent on taking over every available inch of space,
and the tomatoes have reached the point where they'll soon need some guidance up the trellises.
As I looked at the tomato plants, I couldn't help but compare them to students. When I was teaching, part of my responsibility was providing direction and encouragement, helping young people find a path forward. Tomato plants aren't much different. Give them support and guidance and they usually grow where you hope they will. Of course, as every teacher knows, even when direction is provided, things sometimes go their own way.
The garden inspection also brought thoughts of Fran. Although she rarely set foot in the garden itself, she could see it clearly from the deck. By the time I became serious about gardening, her health had already begun to decline. As the years passed, simply getting outside to sit on the deck became increasingly difficult. Yet she always enjoyed looking out over the flowers, raised beds, and changing seasons.
Standing among the vegetables, I found myself wishing she could see how everything is progressing this year. I would like to believe she still can. Whether that's true or not, I know she remains part of the experience every time I walk through the garden.
Returning to the deck around 5:45 PM, my attention was drawn to a large flower container sitting on the deck floor. It was filled with last year's dead growth and a collection of weeds that had volunteered for duty this spring. The pot seemed to be calling my name, asking why I continued to ignore it.
At first I thought I might simply clean it out and gather the plants needed to fill it another day. But after a little reflection, I realized it wasn't really the flowerpot calling me at all. It was Fran.
I could almost hear her saying, "We can't have that mess sitting out there where we enjoy our morning coffee."
A final check of tomorrow's forecast revealed sunshine throughout the day with temperatures expected to reach approximately 85 degrees. That left me with another decision to make: tackle the repotting project this evening while conditions remained relatively comfortable, rise early tomorrow morning and complete the task before the heat arrives, or postpone it until later in the day and likely spend the afternoon sweating through the entire process.
Within minutes the old growth and weeds were removed.
A trip to the greenhouse followed, where I selected the plants for this year's arrangement. Following my usual container gardening philosophy of "thrillers, fillers, and spillers," I chose a tall ornamental spike and a dipladenia for the center of the planter. Surrounding them would be colorful begonias, while calibrachoa would spill gracefully over the edges.
One project quickly led to another. Before long, plants were being carried to the deck, soil was being moved, and the container slowly transformed from an eyesore into something worthy of its place beside the table.
The weather made the work even more enjoyable. Temperatures hovered around seventy degrees, a gentle breeze drifted across the shaded deck, and the sky hinted at a beautiful evening ahead.
By a little after six o'clock, the project was complete.
The planter once again looked alive and inviting. The colorful flowers softened the edges, the taller plants provided structure and balance, and the entire arrangement seemed perfectly at home on the deck
.
As I settled back into my chair with a fresh cup of coffee and smooth jazz playing softly in the background, I looked out across the yard and realized that sometimes there isn't much more a person can ask for.
The garden is growing.
The planter is restored.
The evening air is comfortable.
The music is playing.
And for a little while, everything feels exactly as it should.
With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, smooth jazz playing softly in the background, and a gentle breeze crossing the deck, the atmosphere was difficult to leave behind.
What began as a birthday gift for Fran now sits on the porch three years later, newly planted once again. The flowers have changed many times, but the memories attached to the container remain.
The remainder of the day proved every bit as enjoyable as the morning.
Later in the evening, I spoke with Fran's sister Linda. Linda will soon celebrate her 80th birthday and, unfortunately, suffers from COPD, the same illness that eventually claimed Fran. Once an energetic gardener who spent countless hours tending flowers around her home, she is no longer physically capable of doing much of that work.
Before calling, I had sent her photographs of the large planter I assembled earlier in the evening. Upon seeing it, she immediately responded, "Oh, that's beautiful. When are you going to come over and make one for me?"
That led to laughter and conversation. I suggested that one of these days I might pick her up and take her for frozen custard at a little country place I occasionally visit. She said she would love that, though I suspect that when the day arrives she may not feel well enough to go. Nevertheless, the invitation remains open.
As evening settled in, the weather remained nearly perfect. Temperatures lingered in the low seventies while daylight seemed reluctant to surrender to darkness. The breeze softened and cooled slightly, making the deck even more inviting.
At one point, I found myself thinking that I really should go inside and begin working on the blog because I had accumulated an entire day's worth of observations, photographs, and stories.
The problem was that I simply couldn't bring myself to leave.
The weather was too perfect.
The evening was too beautiful.
The day itself had been too enjoyable.
From a crescent moon before sunrise to lingering daylight after sunset, from coffee and smooth jazz to breakfast with friends, from feather clouds to glowing portal trees, from memories of Fran to conversations with Linda, it had been one of those rare days where everything seemed to align.
As I sat on the deck approaching nightfall, only one thought kept returning:
What an absolutely incredible freaking day this has been,.
I do so wish that Fran were here to enjoy this with me...There aren't many things that could have made this day better than it was, but her being here to share it most definitely would have...
June 13, 2026
The day began beneath clear skies as the old haymaker finally climbed above the tree line behind the house, announcing his arrival with a brilliant display of light and shadow across the landscape.
From my perch on the deck, coffee in hand, I watched another beautiful morning unfold while contemplating the possibility of purchasing a new iPhone 17 Pro Max later in the day. With my current phone's battery showing its age and photography becoming an increasingly important part of my daily routine, I decided it might be time to consider an upgrade.
Earlier in the morning, I called Kim and my son-in-law to see if they had plans for the day and suggested a trip to Shadyside. My hope was to visit the Apple Store and perhaps stop at a French bakery and bistro I had been wanting to try.
Although my son-in-law had a meeting until early afternoon, he indicated that if Kim was available, they would be happy to go.
While moving through the house on my way to the garden, I paused in the dining room and noticed the remarkable patterns of sunlight streaming through the patio doors. The interplay of light and shadow across the table, furniture, and photographs created an entirely different show than the one taking place outside. It was a reminder that sometimes the most interesting scenery isn't beyond the deck railing but within the walls of the home itself.
A visit to the garden revealed that everything continues to thrive. The lettuce beds remain abundant, the peas are producing heavily, and the tomatoes, squash, zucchini, peppers, and other vegetables all appear healthy and vigorous. After completing my inspection, I watered the plants in the small greenhouse on the side of the house, along with those already planted in containers and beds around the front of the property. With temperatures already climbing into the 70s and humidity making it feel warmer, it seemed wise to give everything a good drink before the heat of the day arrived.
Back on the deck, I found myself raising the patio umbrella for the first time that morning as the strengthening sun made things increasingly uncomfortable. In doing so, I noticed a beautiful starburst effect as sunlight filtered directly through the umbrella fabric overhead. Once again, the old haymaker managed to create an entirely new scene from the same familiar setting.
By late morning, I took the Avalon to have it washed, vacuumed, and fully detailed, both inside and out. Returning home with a spotless vehicle, I settled back into my chair beneath the umbrella to enjoy the sunshine while waiting for Kim and my son-in-law to arrive. The weather remained spectacular, with temperatures in the upper 70s and only a scattering of clouds drifting across an otherwise deep blue sky.
Shortly after noon, I experienced one of the classic frustrations of wildlife photography. A pair of wild turkeys crossed from my neighbor's yard through mine and into the open field behind the house, heading toward the woods. Realizing they were too far away for a decent phone photograph, I dashed into the house to retrieve my Nikon DSLR. Unfortunately, by the time I returned, they had continued on their journey and were little more than distant specks against the landscape. It served as yet another reminder of why I was considering the new iPhone, whose improved camera system might allow me to capture fleeting moments like that before they disappear.
Later in the afternoon, Kimberly and my son-in-law arrived, and we made our way into Shadyside to visit the Apple Store. My primary objective was to upgrade my phone. After several years with my iPhone 14, I decided it was finally time to purchase a new iPhone 17 Pro Max.
Although my old phone still served me well, one of the main reasons for upgrading was the improved camera system. Living where I do, surrounded by wildlife, I often miss opportunities to photograph deer, wild turkeys, birds, and other subjects because my Nikon DSLR is inside the house while the wildlife is outside. By the time I retrieve the camera, turn it on, and adjust the settings, the moment is usually gone. Having a powerful camera in my pocket at all times should help solve that problem.
The young employee assisting us at the Apple Store was surprised to learn how old my iPhone 14 was because it remained in excellent condition. He attempted to sell me several premium cases and screen protectors, but I chose a more basic option. I have always been careful with my electronics and saw no need to spend additional money after already making a significant investment in the phone itself.
Originally, I intended to trade in the iPhone 14, but after discussing it with Kimberly and my son-in-law, I decided instead to give it to them. With a new battery installed, it will likely become my grandson's phone. I felt much better about keeping it within the family than receiving a modest trade-in allowance.
After spending several hours at the Apple Store transferring information and learning some of the new features, we visited Trader Joe's, a store I had never experienced before. I was impressed by both the variety and quality of items available. One of the first things that caught my attention was a display of six-inch herb pots selling for only four dollars each. Since local stores often charge nearly that amount for only a few sprigs of basil, I purchased two pots immediately. My plan is to divide them into several smaller plants and add them to the garden. If all goes well, I should have an abundance of basil throughout the summer and enough at season's end to make homemade pesto.
Returning home later in the afternoon, I resumed my watch from the deck. The temperature remained around 81 degrees, but a pleasant breeze kept conditions comfortable. Most of the deck was now shaded, making it an ideal place to sit and enjoy the evening.
Of course, I couldn't resist testing the new camera.
The first photographs taken with the iPhone 17 Pro Max immediately impressed me. One image featured a contrail perfectly aligned above one of the vine-covered locust trees in the backyard, creating the illusion that the tree itself was reaching skyward.
Another photograph included the deck, railing, newly planted container arrangement, and the surrounding landscape.
The colors were vivid, the detail impressive, and the dynamic range far better than what I would have expected from a phone camera just a few years ago.
According to the specifications, the telephoto lens provides approximately a 200mm equivalent focal length. While it certainly won't replace my Nikon DSLR, it should allow me to capture many wildlife moments that would otherwise disappear before I could retrieve a larger camera.
As evening approaches, I find myself once again seated at the deck table, enjoying the breeze, admiring the landscape, and experimenting with the many features of a phone that is undoubtedly far more capable than I currently understand. Learning everything it can do may take quite some time, but based on my first impressions, I am very pleased with the purchase.
More importantly, however, the day was not really about buying a phone. It was about spending a beautiful afternoon with Kimberly and my son-in-law, sharing experiences, exploring a new store, bringing home a few plants for the garden, and enjoying another warm June day.
Those are the things I suspect I will remember long after today's technology has become obsolete.
The day also included a brief technology challenge. While attempting to access the front doorbell camera through the Alexa app on my new phone, I repeatedly received a "Live View isn't available right now" message. After some troubleshooting, I discovered that the Alexa app's Local Network permission had not been enabled during the phone transfer process. Once activated, the mystery was solved, proving once again that many technological problems have surprisingly simple solutions.
As afternoon transitioned into evening, I continued my watch from the deck, enjoying the warmth, the breeze, and the ever-changing scenery. Although no additional wildlife made an appearance, the day had already provided plenty to observe and appreciate.
By 8:17 PM, the sun had gently slipped below the horizon, leaving behind soft streaks of color painted across the western sky. The brilliant blue of the afternoon had faded into subtle shades of gold, pink, and gray.
As I sat quietly taking in the final moments of daylight, I reflected on what had been another remarkably pleasant day, one filled with sunshine, family plans, a thriving garden, a few technological victories, and countless small moments worth remembering.
Not every day needs a grand event to make it memorable. Sometimes a beautiful sunrise, a productive morning, a pair of elusive turkeys, and a peaceful sunset are more than enough.
June 14, 2026
From Gray Skies to Deer in the Rain
The day began at 6:00 AM under a blanket of gray clouds. After rolling out of bed around 5:30 and tending to the necessities, I poured my first cup of coffee and made my way to the patio doors. The forecast called for cloudy skies through much of the day, with rain expected later in the afternoon and evening. At 65 degrees, it wasn't exactly a picture-perfect sunrise, but at least the expected rain would save me from watering the garden.
The previous night had been another unusual one. I slept in the recliner from about 9:00 PM until 1:00 AM, then spent a couple of hours in my office making blog entries and reading about the new iPhone before finally returning to bed. All told, I managed about six to six and a half hours of sleep, enough to feel reasonably alert when the morning began.
Coffee in hand, I stepped onto the deck and immediately noticed how dry everything felt. There was no dew on the table, no moisture on the railing, and the air itself seemed unusually dry.
Looking northeast, I thought I saw signs that the clouds might be beginning to break apart. Looking west and southwest, however, revealed nothing but more cloud cover. The day appeared undecided.
By 6:30 AM the clouds were indeed showing signs of weakening. Small openings appeared, and for brief moments the sun peeked through the branches of the pine trees. Later in the morning, patches of blue sky occasionally emerged, though the clouds stubbornly refused to surrender completely.
Wildlife activity was surprisingly limited. Birds were abundant throughout the morning, and I spent considerable time watching them move through the trees and sky. One particularly entertaining moment involved a much smaller bird aggressively chasing a crow. I have no idea why, but I always enjoy watching the little guy win.
One thing quickly became apparent: there were no squirrels. Not one.
Considering how often squirrels move through the property, their complete absence became one of the day's ongoing mysteries.
As the morning progressed, I found myself thinking about photography. While photographing sunlight breaking through openings in the clouds,
I wondered why Apple had not yet provided true manual aperture control on the iPhone. After a little research, I discovered rumors suggesting future models may offer that capability. Naturally, I had to laugh. It seems technology always introduces the feature you've been wanting immediately after you've purchased the current model.
By late morning the temperature had climbed into the mid-70s. The sun occasionally burst through the cloud cover, briefly warming the landscape before disappearing once again. A gentle breeze made the deck a comfortable place to spend the day.
Eventually I decided it was time to get some work done.
What followed was one of the most productive gardening days I've had in quite some time.
Over the course of five to six hours, I planted summer squash, salad bowl lettuce, gourmet lettuce mix, spinach, Blue Lake bush beans, and four Japanese eggplant seedlings. While working my way through the garden, the snap peas seemed to be calling my name.
I ended up harvesting an abundance of them and began planning a stir-fry for dinner featuring fresh snap peas, carrots, onions, celery, broccoli, garlic, chicken thighs, teriyaki sauce, and rice.
The garden was thriving, and it felt satisfying to spend so much time outdoors tending plants that will hopefully produce throughout the summer.
Wildlife eventually made an appearance in the form of a wild turkey. Even though the bird was several hundred feet away, I managed to photograph it using the telephoto capability of the new iPhone.
After cropping the image, the results were surprisingly good. The experience reinforced something I've already discovered about wildlife photography: long focal lengths bring distant subjects closer, but they also make finding them considerably more difficult. Often by the time you locate your subject, it has already moved elsewhere.
Later in the afternoon I found myself reminiscing about my days teaching at the vocational technical school. One memory involved a computer repair instructor who enjoyed squirrel hunting and a culinary arts instructor who transformed a half-dozen squirrels into a memorable lunch. Served with gravy over mashed potatoes, the squirrel tasted surprisingly similar to chicken, though slightly gamier. It was one of those unexpected experiences that remains vivid even decades later.
As evening approached, I abandoned my ambitious stir-fry plans. After slicing the chicken and contemplating the amount of work involved, I decided I simply wasn't in the mood. Instead, I prepared a honey-baked ham, pepper jack cheese, and tomato panini accompanied by corn chips and salsa. It was simple, satisfying, and exactly what I wanted.
Then the weather began changing.
A tornado watch appeared on my phone, followed later by a severe thunderstorm warning. Suddenly the focus shifted from gardening and wildlife to watching the sky.
The cloud formations became increasingly dramatic. Looking northwest, I could see dense cloud cover moving steadily eastward. Some portions of the sky remained bright while others darkened considerably. Thunder began rumbling in the distance. Looking upward, it seemed as though layer upon layer of clouds stretched endlessly across the horizon.
At one point I remarked that it sounded as though God was moving the furniture around in heaven.
Eventually the thunder grew louder and the clouds darker. Portions of the northeastern sky became nearly black. Realizing conditions were deteriorating, I finally retreated indoors.
The rain arrived shortly afterward.
At times it fell in sheets, pounding the roadway, deck, and surrounding landscape. Moments later it would ease considerably before intensifying once again. The thunder behaved similarly, sometimes sounding directly overhead and other times retreating into the distance.
Then came perhaps the funniest moment of the entire day.
After spending hour after hour wondering where all the squirrels had gone, after seeing absolutely none throughout the daylight hours, I stood inside watching rain bounce off the roadway.
At that exact moment, a squirrel ran across the road.
Apparently severe thunderstorms are the preferred time for squirrel activity.
Nature clearly has a sense of humor.
As the storm gradually moved away, I assumed the day was winding down.
I was wrong.
At approximately 8:45 PM, while walking past the patio door toward the kitchen, I glanced outside and spotted a deer in the field behind the house.
Then I noticed a second deer. Moments later, a third appeared.
Without hesitation I grabbed the new iPhone and stepped back onto the deck, standing in the lingering rain while photographing them.
Although the sun had already set, there was still enough light to capture surprisingly good images. The deer appeared calm and relaxed as they grazed through the field. Some paused beneath the trees while others fed quietly in the open grass.
The photographs exceeded my expectations and left me even more impressed with the capabilities of the new iPhone. The fact that it could produce such usable wildlife images after sunset, in wet conditions, and without preparation was remarkable.
Looking back over the day, it contained a little bit of everything: morning coffee, changing skies, hours in the garden, fresh vegetables, photography, wildlife, memories from years gone by, severe weather alerts, dramatic cloud formations, thunder, rain, one remarkably late squirrel, and finally three deer appearing in the fading light after the storm.
Not every memorable day needs a major event.
Sometimes all it takes is paying attention.
June 15, 2026
Morning Watch Through Strawberry Pie
Today began much as many of the best days seem to begin lately: with coffee in hand and a seat on the deck, watching the world wake up around me, but first some squegee work needed to be attended to.
Morning Watch and New Camera Discoveries
A good portion of the morning was spent becoming more familiar with my new iPhone 17 Pro Max and exploring its photographic capabilities. During my experimentation, I became convinced I had somehow discovered manual aperture control. After much searching and a fair amount of head scratching, I finally realized that what I had found was the Portrait Mode depth-of-field adjustment, allowing settings from approximately f/1.4 through f/16.
While not a true mechanical aperture adjustment, it still proved remarkably useful and reminded me of techniques I had long used with my DSLR cameras.
The more I use this phone, the more impressed I become with what it can accomplish.
Another feature I became quickly enamored with was the ability toshoot in macro mode. Many of the resulting photos taken in my garden walk were quite impressive, especially since they were taken with a cell phone camera.
A Healthy Morning Snack
After spending the morning alternating between wildlife watching, photography, gardening, and researching camera features, hunger finally got the better of me.
A bowl of plain Greek yogurt topped with fresh blueberries and granola clusters proved to be a simple but satisfying solution. Enjoyed on the deck, it felt perfectly suited to the relaxed pace of the morning.
The Return of the Squirrels
One of the more enjoyable surprises of the day involved the return of the squirrels.
After days of wondering where they had disappeared to, several suddenly appeared in the neighboring yard. Armed with my new camera, I entered what could best be described as rapid-fire mode, tracking them as they darted through the grass.
Photographing squirrels at an equivalent focal length of roughly 200 mm proved challenging. They move quickly and seldom cooperate. Still, persistence paid off and I managed to capture several photographs that I was quite pleased with.
At long last, the elusive squirrels finally had their mug shots taken.
Although not technically perfect, you have to realize that the photos were taken with the camera on a cell phone, and the squirrels were at least fifty to sixty feet or more away from me.
A Visit from Jim
During the afternoon, my former assistant from my years teaching Building Trades stopped by.
Jim had been working nearby and took time to stop in and discuss the patio door replacement project I've been considering for quite some time.
Having recently received several estimates that bordered on the ridiculous, I had decided to purchase the door myself and hire someone to install it.
Jim arrived just as I was finishing a chicken and vegetable teriyaki late lunch.
Naturally, he was invited to join me.
We sat together on the deck enjoying teriyaki, conversation, and memories accumulated over decades.
When I asked what he would charge for installing the door, he looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
He reminded me of the many occasions years ago when I brought food into the shop and shared it with him when he was a young assistant trying to make ends meet. He told me there would be no charge and no further discussion about it.
I eventually convinced him to at least allow me to compensate his son, whom he intends to bring along to help with the installation.
His kindness and generosity were deeply appreciated and served as a reminder that acts of kindness often return years later in unexpected ways.
Northern Flicker Encounter
The wildlife show continued when a bird landed in the yard that initially had me puzzled.
After closer examination and some photography, it became clear that the visitor was a Northern Flicker, a species of woodpecker.
Watching it probe the ground for insects explained much of its behavior. It also helped explain years of hearing mysterious knocking sounds around the house and gutters, sounds that I had occasionally mistaken for someone knocking at the door.
Once again be reminded that these photos were taken with the camera in a cell phone, of a bird that could fit in the palm of your hand, at a distance of approximately forty feet.
Cardinals, Squirrels, and the Pine Tree
Later in the day my daughter called, and while we talked I repeatedly caught glimpses of cardinals moving in and out of the large pine tree near the deck.
I remain convinced they are nesting there.
Unfortunately, every time I reached for the camera they disappeared behind branches before I could capture them.
The mission continues.
Adding to the excitement, several squirrels crossed the road and made their way toward the same pine tree. Their arrival triggered a dramatic response from the local bird population.
Birds vacated the tree, circled nearby, and then returned to harass the squirrels.
Given that squirrels are known to raid nests and occasionally eat eggs or nestlings, the birds' concern was probably justified.
The entire scene was surprisingly entertaining.
Evening Sky and a Visitor Overhead
As the afternoon gave way to evening, the weather remained beautiful though noticeably cooler in the shade.
The sky to the east and southeast turned a remarkable shade of blue, interrupted only by a few distant clouds, to the south east, resting near the horizon.
Just as I was preparing to call it a day and head indoors, one final surprise appeared overhead.
Two large birds circled high above the property.
Though silhouetted against the sky, I was able to track one of them and capture several photographs. I suspect it may have been a hawk, though positive identification remains difficult from the silhouette alone.
From many previous experiences of trying to shoot birds, even large predatory birds, in flight with a 200mm lens, mounted on a 35 mm DSLR camera, trust me when I tell you, it's not an easy task. Kind of like looking throug a pin hole into the vastness of the sky, with no reference point. Just finding the subject is dam near impossible. Having got what I got, again on a cell phone camera, with the subject being most likely several hundred feet above me, against a clear blue sky, with the equivalent of a 200 mm lens setting, was something I considerd a success.
Regardless of its exact identity, it provided a fitting finale to a day already filled with wildlife encounters.
An Evening Phone Call and a Sweet Conclusion
Earlier in the day my son called while driving home from work, in North Carolina.
During our conversation he asked whether I had made another strawberry pie.
I admitted I had not, though I certainly had all the ingredients necessary.
Hours later, as I returned indoors to escape the evening chill, I found myself thinking about that conversation.
Suddenly the idea of a fresh strawberry pie sounded entirely too good to ignore.
Since the ingredients were already on hand, the decision practically made itself.
Before long a baked pie shell was filled with fresh strawberries and topped with a glossy strawberry glaze.
The result was simple, familiar, and thoroughly satisfying.
And with that, the day came to a close.
A day filled with photography, wildlife, family conversations, friendship, generosity, blue skies, good food, and one very welcome strawberry pie.
Not a bad day at all, and as always, I wish Fran could have been here to enjoyit with me...
June 16, 2026
Morning Watch – June 16, 2026
The day began at 5:54 AM with a view through the patio doors of a pale blue sky stretching across the horizon like a blank canvas awaiting an artist's first brushstroke. Although the forecast called for a pleasant high near 73 degrees, the morning air remained brisk at 49 degrees. Dew covered the deck furniture and tabletop, evidence of lingering overnight moisture. The outdoors looked inviting, but not quite inviting enough to leave the warmth of the house. Coffee in hand and smooth jazz playing nearby, I began the Morning Watch from the patio door.
By 6:20 AM, the sun had reached the horizon and began peeking through the branches of the large pine tree behind the house.
The landscape remained quiet. Little wildlife activity was evident, and even the birds seemed reluctant to begin their daily chorus. The day felt as though it was patiently gathering itself.
As the morning progressed, the changing angle of sunlight transformed everything it touched. Long shadows stretched across the lawn. The eastern field and tree line began to glow with rich greens, while the highest branches of the sassafras tree behind the pool and garden caught the first direct rays of sunlight. The effect was striking, revealing how dramatically light alone can change a familiar landscape.
Throughout the morning I found myself standing at the patio door, coffee cup nearby, content to observe and contemplate. I considered whether the country style ribs waiting in the refrigerator would become the centerpiece of a grilling session or find their way into a pot of spaghetti sauce. The decision remained unresolved.
A fascinating lesson in morning light presented itself in the garden. Hanging baskets near the top of the pool wall glowed as if illuminated by spotlights, while vegetables growing lower in the raised beds remained in shadow, shielded by the pool wall itself.
It was another reminder that sunlight changes not only what we see but how we see it.
I spent part of the morning thinking about Neighbor Bob, the recently retired gentleman across the street who has faithfully cut my grass since Fran passed away, and refuses any payment. I considered inviting him for a steak dinner and sharing a 24-ounce ribeye I had been saving for the occasion. The invitation would have to wait, however, as I never managed to reach him.
The sky became increasingly interesting as the morning advanced. Thin clouds drifted into the scene, adding texture and character to an already beautiful day. Contrails crossed overhead and gradually spread into delicate streaks, creating what looked like an ever-changing masterpiece across the southeastern sky.
A pleasant surprise arrived around breakfast time when a pair of wild turkeys crossed the road. After a quick sprint for my phone, I managed to capture several photographs before they disappeared from view.
Breakfast consisted of yogurt, blueberries, and granola enjoyed while standing at the kitchen counter looking through the patio doors. Given the amount of berries, yogurt, honey, and granola I have consumed lately, I joked that I may be slowly evolving into a blueberry bush with mild photosynthetic tendencies.
Later in the morning I inspected the large flower planter on the deck. Yesterday I had nearly given up on one of the purple flowering plants, believing it was beyond recovery. Today, however, several fresh blooms had appeared. Their vibrant color convinced me to postpone any plans for replacement and give the plant a chance to continue its comeback.
By mid-morning, the sun had climbed high enough to warm the deck. The fleece jacket that had been necessary earlier in the day gradually became less important as the old haymaker gained strength.
The remainder of the late morning was spent making a large pot of homemade spaghetti sauce. Although I never connected with Neighbor Bob regarding dinner, the sauce turned out well and provided several meals for the coming days.
Later in the afternoon I finally reached my sister-in-law Linda, after several unsuccessful attempts. She explained that she had not been feeling well. Any thoughts of taking her out for ice cream quickly disappeared. Instead, I offered to bring her a meal consisting of pasta with homemade sauce and perhaps a salad made from lettuce growing in the garden. Though she insisted I shouldn't go to any trouble, she admitted she would appreciate it if I found the opportunity.
The late afternoon sky once again stole the show. Layers of clouds drifted overhead, creating scenes that seemed almost painted.
From my chair on the deck I found myself reluctant to leave despite needing to pick up prescriptions and run errands.
Eventually practicality won. A trip to the pharmacy turned into a frustrating experience. Despite receiving a text message indicating prescriptions were ready, the pharmacy had no clear explanation of what was available and what was not. After a lengthy and confusing discussion, I left more frustrated than informed. Before departing, however, I apologized to the employee for my impatience, reminding them that pharmacies deal with matters of health and well-being, not merely consumer conveniences.
Afterward I stopped at the market for a few groceries and then visited the home improvement store to purchase Miracle-Gro, in hopes of helping the struggling flowers in the deck planter recover.
Rain had already begun by the time I returned home, ending any possibility of spending the evening outdoors. After cleaning up dishes and having something to eat, I settled into the recliner and promptly fell asleep.
The sleep was deep and filled with vivid dreams involving people from long ago, including several who have since passed away. In the dreams we were working together, though not always successfully. When I finally awoke around 11:00 PM, getting out of the recliner felt like a major accomplishment.
Although I had not done a great deal of physical labor throughout the day, exhaustion had clearly caught up with me. More than likely, it was simply the accumulated effect of too little sleep the night before.
All in all, it was another beautiful day of observation, photography, gardening, cooking, humor, cloud watching, turkey spotting, and quiet reflection, exactly the sort of day that reminds me why I continue the Morning Watch.
June 17, 2026
From Gloom to Gratitude
The day began at 5:44 AM with a less-than-encouraging view through the patio doors. Thick gray clouds hung low across the horizon, puddles covered every flat surface, and the deck looked more like a swimming pool than the headquarters of Morning Watch.
A painful leg cramp finally forced me out of bed, and while sipping coffee and listening to smooth jazz, I wasn't particularly optimistic about what the day might bring.
As the morning progressed, however, things began to change. By 6:46 AM patches of blue sky appeared through the cloud cover, and hopes for the day improved considerably. Out came the handheld squeegee as I cleared the runway, drying the deck and preparing Morning Watch International Airport for operations.
By 7:26 AM the runway was officially reopened, positive arrivals were welcomed, and all negative departures were encouraged.
The weather continued to improve, and by 7:48 AM Flight Morning Watch was airborne. The in-flight galley crew was hard at work preparing cargo for an important delivery to my sister-in-law Linda. On the menu were:
homemade spaghetti with sauce that had simmered for nearly eight hours,
teriyaki chicken and garden vegetables over rice,
fresh garden salad, One that I neglected to document...
homemade rice pudding,
and a generous slice of strawberry pie.
The rice pudding held special meaning. Many years ago, Linda introduced me to Cozy Shack rice pudding, which I always enjoyed, but today's homemade version brought back memories of my grandmother's rice pudding and the comfort it always provided. After tasting it, I was certain Linda would enjoy it as much as I did.
Mid-morning brought a phone call from a scammer pretending to represent Wells Fargo. The call ended rather abruptly after I informed the gentleman that I hoped the fleas of a thousand camels would infest his armpits by week's end.
Fortunately, before I could devote too much energy to him, a sudden gust of wind attempted to transform my deck umbrella into a Mary Poppins transportation system. Thankfully both the umbrella and I remained earthbound.
The afternoon mission to Linda's house was a complete success. After delivering enough food to keep her supplied for several days, I invited her to take a drive through the countryside and stop for frozen custard. To my surprise she eagerly agreed.
At the custard stand she selected vanilla frozen custard with coconut flavoring and joined me on the porch where we sat in rocking chairs enjoying both the dessert and the beautiful summer afternoon.
Despite her COPD, she never once reached for her oxygen machine, never complained, and seemed genuinely happy. We spent time talking, laughing, and even discussing ChatGPT, which she found difficult to believe until I promised to show her how it worked sometime in the future.
Perhaps the most meaningful part of the afternoon was seeing her smile. Her children often worry because she rarely wants to go anywhere and frequently claims she has little appetite. Yet the woman who "never wants to eat" practically inhaled her frozen custard and thoroughly enjoyed herself. When I dropped her off at home, she told me, "I really enjoyed myself. We'll have to do this again soon." Those words alone made the entire trip worthwhile.
Later in the afternoon, while talking with my daughter on the phone, old Tom Turkey made a return appearance. He crossed behind the shed and into the field, giving me an opportunity to photograph him at distances ranging from roughly 100 to 200 feet. My daughter accused me of becoming a camera maniac. Naturally, I ignored her professional assessment and continued taking photographs.
Kids... Scheeeeeeeech!
As evening approached, I stepped inside briefly and traded a day of smooth jazz for an album featuring Norah Jones and Eric Clapton. The bluesy sound fit the mood perfectly. When Norah invited listeners to "Come Away With Me," my immediate reaction was, "Not tonight, honey. I've done all the flying I care to do today."
Listening to Clapton also reminded me of how much I admire true craftsmanship. Having spent some time puttering around with a guitar myself, I know how difficult it is to create the effortless sound he produces. Even with arthritis and fingers that don't always cooperate, I continue to appreciate both the challenge and the beauty of making music.
The day concluded with an unexpected visit from my friend Neal. He stopped by to harvest some lettuce from the garden and left with snap peas as well. While he was picking vegetables, I offered him a piece of homemade strawberry pie. His response was immediate and enthusiastic. We spent the next hour and a half on the deck sharing pie, coffee, conversation, and photographs from my new iPhone camera. Neal was amazed by what modern cell phone cameras can do, particularly the wildlife photographs taken from considerable distances.
As darkness started to settled over Western Pennsylvania, the chair cushions were brought in, the table wiped down, and the deck prepared for the night.
Looking back, the day that began with flooded runways, dark skies, and painful leg cramps ended with sunshine, homemade food, frozen custard, wildlife photography, good music, friendship, and meaningful time spent with people I care about.
Not a bad flight plan after all.
June 18, 2026
A Day of Wind, Turkeys, and an Evening Encore
This morning began later than usual, a pleasant surprise after several days of fragmented sleep. By the time I made my way to the patio doors with my first cup of coffee, it was already after six o'clock. Outside, the landscape was draped beneath a bright gray sky, evidence of overnight rain visible everywhere. The deck, furniture, and railings glistened with moisture while a steady wind bent even the largest trees around the property.
The forecast called for additional rain and wind gusts approaching 35 mph. Although the weather appeared unsettled, there was a certain comfort in knowing that nature had already granted permission for a slower day. There would be no pressure to tackle garden projects or outdoor chores. Instead, the morning seemed destined for observation and reflection.
While standing at the patio doors listening to the wind, I heard a familiar commotion from a group of wild turkeys somewhere beyond the yard. Before long, one of them appeared, attempting to cross the roadway near the house. The crossing nearly ended in disaster when an impatient driver laid on the horn and rushed toward the bird.
Fortunately, the turkey continued on its way unharmed while the driver sped off, apparently frustrated by the interruption to his schedule.
The incident reminded me of an old cartoon I have carried with me since my college days. It depicts a tiny mouse standing upright while a large bird of prey descends upon it. Rather than run, the mouse raises a tiny paw with one finger extended. The caption reads, "Last Great Act of Defiance." Even after all these years, it still makes me laugh. Watching that turkey ignore the driver's impatience brought the cartoon immediately to mind. Nature often seems unconcerned with human schedules and deadlines.
The remainder of the day passed quietly. I didn't accomplish a great deal in terms of projects or chores, but perhaps that wasn't what the day was meant for.
Sometimes productivity isn't measured by crossed-off tasks but by allowing the body to reclaim the rest it has been demanding.
As evening approached, I stepped onto the deck following a shower to enjoy what little daylight remained. Heavy clouds still dominated the eastern and southeastern sky while occasional breaks allowed glimpses of color and light.
The landscape below seemed to be settling in for the night.
Then, in a matter of minutes, the entire sky changed.
At first, dark clouds continued to move rapidly eastward. Soon afterward, the western horizon began to open.
Sunlight slipped beneath the departing cloud deck, illuminating the undersides of the clouds with shades of pink, peach, lavender, and gold. What had appeared destined to become a dull gray sunset transformed into one final display of color and drama.
The evening served as a reminder that nature often saves its finest performance for the very moment we think the show is over. Just as I was preparing to put away the camera and call it a night, the sky offered an unexpected encore.
Not a particularly busy day by any measure, but a good one nonetheless. A day of wind, observation, a stubborn turkey, an old memory from college, and a sunset that refused to leave quietly.
Comments