On Grief and Grieving- August 2026

August 1, 2026

A Morning That Defied the Forecast

The day began much earlier than usual, with me awake and moving about by 4:30 AM. The weather forecast called for nothing more than a cloudy, overcast day, so I wasn't expecting much in the way of a sunrise. Yet, as I stood inside near the kitchen counter watching through the patio doors, I noticed subtle hints of color beginning to develop around 5:30 AM.

Within only a few minutes, the eastern sky transformed into a breathtaking display of soft pinks, corals, and salmon-colored clouds stretching across the horizon. The entire event lasted no more than three minutes before gradually fading back into the gray overcast that had been forecast all along.

By 6:30 AM, anyone stepping outside for the first time would have never guessed such a spectacular sunrise had taken place.

Current conditions at 6:23 AM were 64°F, 89% humidity, with a light 2 mph southeast breeze.

The briefness of the display served as another reminder that some of nature's most beautiful moments are also the most fleeting.

Morning Thoughts Before the Coffee

Interestingly, I hadn't even made my way onto the deck yet. Standing in the kitchen, my thoughts drifted toward the Japanese milk bread dough resting patiently in the refrigerator.

Over the past several days, I've accumulated quite a collection of videos demonstrating creative ways to shape decorative breads and pastries. This morning, while reviewing them, I realized I'd created an entirely different problem, not a lack of ideas, but almost too many. Rather than wondering what to make next, I found myself wondering where to begin.

Creative Experiments in the Kitchen

The remainder of the morning became another lesson in bread artistry.

Using the remaining Japanese milk bread dough, I divided it into several portions and experimented with a variety of decorative shaping techniques.

One pastry was layered with cream cheese and strawberry preserves before being rolled, split, and twisted into new forms.

Another experiment explored folding triangular sections into decorative pinwheel-like shapes.

The dough itself performed beautifully. The flavor remained outstanding, and the finished pastries were delicious. However, the decorative appearance fell well short of what I had envisioned.

The biggest lesson learned today was that fillings completely change the behavior of decorative dough. Once cream cheese and fruit preserves are placed between the layers, the dough becomes slippery and difficult to control. Shapes that appear effortless in demonstration videos become much more challenging when soft fillings are involved.

Rather than becoming discouraged, I simply filed another lesson away for future experiments. Every attempt teaches something new, and each one brings me a little closer to achieving the results I'm after.

Morning Wildlife

Between baking sessions, my regular morning companions once again made an appearance.

Several of my little squirrel friends spent much of the morning racing around the large oak tree near the road. They darted up the trunk, back down again, across the road, and then back to the tree, seemingly burning off limitless amounts of energy.

Every so often one would stop beneath the oak, sit upright for only a few seconds while surveying the surroundings, then suddenly explode back into motion as though someone had flipped a switch.

As always, they provided another enjoyable chapter in the continuing "Morning Watch."

A Quiet Saturday Morning on the Deck

By 9:31 AM, I finally settled onto the deck with a fresh cup of coffee.

The brilliant sunrise had become only a memory, but the morning remained exceptionally comfortable. The temperature and humidity combined to create one of those rare mornings where everything simply felt right.

The umbrella stayed folded since there was very little direct sunshine, and because it was Saturday, something else was noticeably absent. the constant construction noise that has become part of my daily soundtrack over the past several weeks.

Without backup alarms, diesel engines, or heavy equipment echoing across the neighborhood, the morning felt wonderfully peaceful.

Sometimes silence is every bit as enjoyable as sunshine.

Afternoon Kitchen Work

The afternoon turned into another productive session in the kitchen.

I roasted six ears of corn, only to discover they were a tremendous disappointment. Rather than the sweet summer corn I had expected, they were tough, starchy, and tasted more like field corn than table corn.

Rather than throwing them away, I decided they would make an excellent feast for my feathered and furry backyard friends.

Nothing goes to waste if I can help it.

I also broke down eight chicken quarters, separating the thighs into individual freezer bags while seasoning and breading the drumsticks before baking them.

The freezer is now stocked with several homemade dinners for the days ahead.

An Unexpected Opportunity to Help

While preparing dinner, I called my niece Stacey to see whether she and Lindsey were still at their mothers house, making preparations for Linda's upcoming memorial service.

When I mentioned I had prepared chicken and planned to make Cajun rice, I asked whether they would enjoy a home-cooked dinner.

She gratefully accepted.

Almost immediately afterward, my daughter and son-in-law unexpectedly stopped by for a visit. Although they declined dinner because of my son-in-law's gluten-free diet, it was nice spending a little time together before they continued on their way.

Around 7:00 PM, I packaged up two pieces of chicken, Cajun rice, and one of my Japanese milk bread pastries before driving over and deliver to my niece Stacey.

I spent a few minutes talking with her, who is understandably carrying a tremendous amount of stress, as preparations continue for her mother's memorial service.

Sometimes delivering a simple homemade meal says more than words ever could.

An All Too Familiar Evening

Returning home, I sat down in my recliner intending only to rest for a few minutes while watching the evening news.

The next thing I knew, it was after 10:00 PM.

Apparently, my "few minutes" had once again turned into several hours.

Now there were still dishes waiting in the sink, tomorrow morning's coffee yet to prepare, and a handful of journal entries still waiting to be written before finally calling it a day.

Reflections

Looking back over the day, a common theme quietly emerged.

Very little unfolded exactly as planned.

The magnificent sunrise disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

The decorative pastries didn't resemble the elegant creations I had imagined.

The roasted corn turned out to be nearly inedible.

Yet every disappointment somehow found a purpose.

The sunrise became a treasured memory.

The pastries became another valuable lesson.

The corn became food for wildlife.

The chicken became comfort for family members going through an emotionally difficult time.

Perhaps that's one of life's gentle reminders.

The success of a day isn't determined by how perfectly everything goes according to plan.

Sometimes it's measured by what we choose to do with life's unexpected turns.

As I prepare for another early morning tomorrow, I'm reminded once again that every sunrise, every loaf of bread, every quiet conversation, and every small act of kindness becomes another thread woven into the story of an ordinary life that, when viewed together, is anything but ordinary.

August 2, 2026

Today proved to be a lesson in expectations. What began as a gray, uninspiring morning

eventually unfolded into one of the busiest and most productive days I've spent in the kitchen in quite some time. Looking back now, it's hard to believe that only a few hours earlier I had little ambition and even less motivation.

6:23 AM – A Gray Beginning

The day began reluctantly.

Getting out of bed required more determination than usual, especially while continuing to deal with the inconvenience of carrying around a catheter bag attached to my leg. Once morning routines were behind me and my first cup of coffee was in hand, one glance through the patio doors told me everything I needed to know.

The sky was completely overcast, the forecast called for rain throughout the day, and my beloved Morning Watch on the deck appeared destined to be cancelled.

With temperatures around 71 degrees, humidity at 85 percent, and a light southeast breeze, it simply felt like one of those days I'd rather have skipped altogether. Even waking up the "Squeegee Team" seemed pointless knowing Mother Nature would reclaim the deck within the hour.

At that moment I honestly wondered if there would be much worth writing about before the day was over.

7:32 AM – Storm Watch from the Kitchen

Mother Nature answered that question rather quickly.

Rain arrived with surprising intensity, pounding against the metal patio furniture so loudly that for a brief moment I thought hail was falling.

Lightning flashed repeatedly across the northeastern sky, followed by rolling thunder that suggested the center of the storm was perhaps ten or twelve miles away.

Watching comfortably through the patio doors, another unexpected visitor appeared.

A large bird of prey, most likely a Red-tailed Hawk, landed atop a nearby utility pole long enough for me to capture a single photograph before silently lifting back into the gray morning sky.

Even on the dreariest mornings, nature still finds a way to provide something worth remembering.

10:28 AM – Rainy Days Belong in the Kitchen

Since the weather refused to cooperate outdoors, the kitchen became today's destination.

Preparation began for tomorrow evening's family barbecue with a large batch of Italian seafood pasta salad.

The pasta was cooked, cooled

and combined with a creamy dressing before fresh chopped onions, green onions and red peppers were folded into the mixture.

Shrimp were gently steamed

while imitation crab was cut into generous bite-sized pieces

before everything was combined into what promises to become an even better salad after spending the night in the refrigerator.

Sometimes rainy days simply invite cooking.

Afternoon Experiment – My First Peach Cake

With the seafood salad complete, I turned my attention toward another first.

Earlier in the day I learned that blanching peaches should make removing the skins relatively easy.

Unfortunately...

The peaches apparently had other ideas.

Despite several minutes in boiling water followed by an ice bath, the skins refused to cooperate. Eventually I resorted to carefully peeling each peach with a paring knife, proving once again that recipes don't always account for reality.

The peaches were sliced,

the batter prepared and everything assembled into the baking dish.

Then came the unexpected chapter.

While the cake baked, I sat in my recliner to watch the afternoon news.

Once again...

I fell asleep.

Thankfully the oven timer woke me before disaster struck.

Opening the oven door revealed what looked remarkably like a volcanic eruption. Batter had risen over the sides of the baking dish and spilled onto the sheet pan I had thoughtfully placed underneath.

Fortunately, that simple precaution saved the oven from becoming an absolute mess.

Although my first impression suggested failure, once everything cooled the cake looked surprisingly good.

More importantly...

It tasted even better.

Apparently I had simply underestimated how much the batter would rise during baking.

Another lesson learned.

Evening Preparations for Tomorrow's Barbecue

With dessert completed, attention shifted toward tomorrow night's main course.

A nearly five-pound rack of pork ribs received a generous coating of a honey-garlic marinade

consisting of soy sauce, honey, olive oil, garlic, onion powder, black pepper and a splash of water.

The only real challenge came while attempting to remove the membrane from the back of the ribs.

Recipes always suggest it should pull away easily.

Mine certainly didn't.

After removing as much as reasonably possible, I decided not to sacrifice the meat chasing perfection.

The ribs were thoroughly coated with marinade, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap, placed inside a roasting pan and tucked safely into the spare refrigerator in the garage where they'll spend the night soaking up every bit of flavor before tomorrow's barbecue.

The plan is to slow-roast them in the oven before finishing them on the grill with barbecue sauce shortly before dinner.

A Day That Changed Direction

Looking back now, it's almost difficult to believe this same day began with such little enthusiasm.

A gloomy sky, steady rain and physical fatigue suggested the hours ahead would simply be something to endure.

Instead...

The day became filled with unexpected visitors, new recipes, valuable lessons, a few humorous mishaps, and the quiet satisfaction that comes from preparing food for people you love.

Tomorrow evening my nieces Stacey and Lindsey along with my nephew Scott will gather around the table.

We'll share seafood pasta salad, barbecued ribs, grilled chicken and peach cake.

Hopefully there will be plenty of laughter mixed in with the meal.

If nothing else, I'll have one rather entertaining story to tell about a peach cake that briefly decided it wanted to become a volcano before settling down into dessert.

Sometimes the best days aren't the ones we look forward to...

They're the ones that quietly surprise us.

August 3, 2026

From Heavy Hearts to Full Hearts

Today turned out to be one of those rare days that contained nearly every emotion imaginable. It began with reflection and tears, gradually gave way to purpose and preparation, and ultimately concluded with laughter, good food, and the priceless gift of family gathered around the table.

A Morning That Began With Memories

The day opened beneath gray skies and the promise of clearing weather, but the emotional forecast proved much more difficult to predict.

My niece Stacey shared a heartfelt message her mother had written to Cathy after the passing of her Aunt Fran. Her words centered around one simple truth:

"She was my best friend."

Those four words carried extraordinary weight.

Seeing the old photograph of the two sisters together,

along with her mother's handwritten inscription on the back, "My best friend,"opened the floodgates.

It reminded me that grief doesn't belong to one person alone. Every member of a family loses someone different. My nieces mother lost the sister who had been beside her for an entire lifetime, just as I continue learning how to navigate life without Fran.

At the same time, I reflected on Cathy and her husband Tom's kindness over the past year, especially the Scarlet Crape Myrtle they sent for you to plant in Fran's memory, a living reminder that love continues to grow long after loss.

Morning Watch

The morning itself was gray, humid and damp.

Standing at the patio doors, coffee in hand, I looked across the wet deck knowing the "Squeegee Team" would soon have to report for duty.

The forecast promised sunshine by mid-morning, but there was understandable skepticism.

The deck was soaked.

Dinner was planned outdoors.

Everything depended upon the weather.

Fortunately, patience was rewarded.

The Squeegee Team Goes To Work

After several cups of coffee, Little T, Middle T and Big T officially began their morning mission.

The deck gradually dried.

The clouds slowly drifted away.

Turkeys made another appearance, crossing the road with their usual confidence before realizing a pickup truck had interrupted their plans.

Within an hour the transformation was remarkable.

Gray skies gave way to patches of blue.

Hope returned.

Preparing the Feast

With the weather improving, my attention turned completely toward dinner.

The nearly five-pound rack of ribs, marinated overnight, had slowly roasted throughout the day.

They emerged beautifully colored and richly seasoned.

I prepared a homemade barbecue sauce before brushing generous coats over both sides of the ribs.

Wrapped tightly in foil, they returned to a low 200° oven to patiently wait until the family arrived.

Alongside them were:

• Homemade seafood pasta salad

• Garden vegetable medley prepared from vegetables I had grown myself

• Fresh Japanese milk bread dinner rolls

• Peach cake waiting for dessert

Like so many meals I've prepared over the years, presentation mattered almost as much as flavor.

Mother Nature Delivers

Perhaps today's greatest surprise came from the one thing completely outside my control.

The weather.

After worrying for much of the day whether everyone would have to eat indoors, Mother Nature exceeded every expectation.

By late afternoon the sky had become a deep summer blue.

The hillside glowed vibrant green.

Only a handful of small white clouds floated overhead.

The gentle breeze made sitting on the deck absolutely perfect.

The same deck that required the Squeegee Team only hours earlier now became the perfect dining room.

Family Arrives

The kitchen quickly filled with activity as everyone helped themselves.

Plates were loaded.

Conversation began before anyone even sat down.

Soon everyone gathered around the table outside beneath the umbrella overlooking the yard.

There were smiles.

Laughter.

Stories.

Occasional teasing.

And plenty of appreciation for the meal.

The ribs disappeared quickly.

The seafood salad was a favorite.

The vegetable medley showcased the rewards of months spent tending the garden.

The homemade rolls completed the meal.

Then came peach cake and coffee while the conversations continued long after dinner had ended.

The Best Part Wasn't the Food

As satisfying as the meal was, the true success of the evening had very little to do with barbecue sauce or perfectly tender ribs.

The real highlight became the conversations.

Family memories surfaced naturally.

Stories about loved ones who are no longer here blended seamlessly with laughter about everyday life.

The evening never felt rushed.

No one seemed anxious to leave.

Everyone simply enjoyed being together.

Considering how the morning had begun, with tears brought on by memories of my isiter in law and Fran, it almost seemed fitting that the day concluded surrounded by the people who continue writing the family's story.

There was sadness.

There was joy.

Both belonged together.

Closing Reflection

If there was one lesson today offered, it was this:

Life has a remarkable way of balancing itself.

The morning reminded me how deeply love can hurt when someone is gone.

The evening reminded me why that love is always worth carrying forward.

Today's weather mirrored that journey perfectly.

The clouds eventually gave way to sunshine.

The tears gradually made room for smiles.

And once again our deck became exactly what it has become so many times before, not merely a place to eat dinner, but a gathering place where family, friendship, food and memories all find a seat at the same table.

It was, in every sense of the word, a day well lived.

August 4, 2026

A Day of Quiet Reflection

The day began before sunrise after a difficult night's sleep. Although the weather appeared nearly perfect for another Morning Watch, with temperatures in the upper 50s, heavy dew, and only a slight northeast breeze, the peaceful morning contrasted sharply with the night that preceded it.

I was awake until nearly 2:30 in the morning after falling asleep in my recliner, only to be awakened again by some of the worst leg cramps I've ever experienced. The pain was intense enough to have me walking for more than fifteen minutes before it finally subsided. Combined with the increasing fatigue I've noticed over recent weeks, it left me wondering if my body was beginning to dictate a slower pace than my mind was willing to accept.

Yet, despite the difficult night, my thoughts quickly turned to the previous evening's family gathering. The barbecue dinner had been every bit the success I'd hoped for. The ribs, seafood salad, roasted vegetables, and homemade rolls were enjoyed by everyone, but the true highlight came afterward when my niece Lindsey began sharing old family photographs she had found while sorting through her mothers belongings. Inspired by the moment, I retrieved the envelope of photographs Frank had recently left with me. Sitting at the table as the oldest member of the family, I found myself identifying faces and telling stories from generations many of the younger family members had never known. It became less about photographs and more about preserving family history.

Another pleasant memory from the evening was the impromptu frozen strawberry lemonade margaritas I prepared before dinner. Using frozen lemonade concentrate, fresh strawberries, tequila, and ice, I prepared a refreshing summer drink that quickly became a hit with my guests and helped set a relaxed, festive tone before everyone gathered around the table.

Morning Watch Resumes

By 7:43, the deck had dried enough to officially begin another Morning Watch.

Armed with fresh coffee and wearing a light fleece jacket against the lingering morning chill, I settled into my familiar seat. It wasn't long before one of my regular squirrel visitors discovered the trail of corn I had intentionally scattered in a playful "Hansel and Gretel" fashion, leading him closer to my chair.

The little squirrel faithfully followed the trail before settling on a nearby rock, giving me several delightful opportunities for photographs as the early morning sun illuminated his fur against the dew-covered grass.

The Morning Watch continued as the garden slowly awakened. Watching through the Garden Cam, I noticed several tomatoes reaching peak ripeness while deciding to postpone harvesting until the dew had disappeared and the morning warmed.

Breakfast eventually consisted of the last remaining blueberry muffin from the several dozen I had baked days earlier.

The muffin confirmed my belief that the recipe is definitely a keeper, although I reflected on the peach cake served the previous evening.

While everyone else thoroughly enjoyed it,I concluded that doubling the original recipe in a much larger baking dish had prevented the center from baking completely, providing yet another valuable lesson in the never-ending pursuit of perfect baking.

A Small Mystery Solved

Perhaps one of the more satisfying discoveries of the day involved the tiny, fruit fly like, insects that had been bothering me for weeks.

While investigating my pantry several days earlier, I discovered a damaged bag of cornmeal with powder leaking from a small hole, accompanied by numerous dead, what appeared as fruit flies underneath. Rather than opening the bag, I sealed it inside another plastic bag and discarded it immediately.

This morning, for the first time in days, I've noticed almost none of the tiny flying insects around the kitchen sink. It suddenly became apparent that the sink had likely never been the source at all. Instead, the damaged cornmeal bag had probably been harboring the infestation all along, and more than likly not fruit flies at all, but some other type of annoying insect. Solving that small mystery brought a quiet sense of satisfaction.

Morning Visitors

As the sun climbed higher, three familiar wild turkeys emerged from my neighbor's yard before crossing into ours and continuing toward the field beyond the garden.

Although the strong backlighting turned them almost into silhouettes, the sparkling dew and glowing red heads created dramatic images that beautifully captured the atmosphere of the summer morning.

By mid-morning, the umbrella had been opened over the deck table, replacing the fleece jacket that had been necessary only hours earlier.

My coffee cup became the centerpiece of several photographs, symbolizing the peaceful routine that has become my Morning Watch.

An Unexpected Afternoon

The greatest surprise of the day came later.

Sometime before noon, I unintentionally fell asleep in my recliner and didn't awaken until nearly 5:41 that afternoon.

The length of the nap troubled me.

More than simply losing several hours, I found my self reflecting on my declining energy level and wondering whether the slowing I was experiencing was simply part of aging or something more significant. Remembering my parents slowing down in their nineties, I questioned why I was already feeling similar changes at seventy-six. Rather than frustration, my writing revealed quiet concern and an awareness that my body may be asking for more rest than it once did.

Evening in the Garden

The day regained its momentum as evening approached.

I returned to the garden, giving it a thorough watering before harvesting another generous collection of tomatoes, peppers, and zucchini.

The abundance reminded me of one annual gardening challenge, everything seems to ripen at once. Looking over the vines still loaded with green and blushing tomatoes, I realized that my family and friends would soon be enjoying the fruits of my labor right alongside me.

After watering the garden, I gave Fran's crape myrtle a long drink before moving to the front yard to water flowers and the remaining greenhouse plants.

The evening wasn't without one humorous interruption.

Approaching the garage keypad, I suddenly realized I couldn't remember my own access code. After several unsuccessful attempts, I called my daughter, who immediately laughed before reminding me of the correct combination. Although the incident gave me pause, after already reflecting on fatigue and memory earlier in the day, it ended with laughter rather than worry.

A Cardinal That Waited

Later, while returning phone calls from the deck, I spoke with Fran's cousin, Frank.

During our conversation, a brilliant male cardinal unexpectedly landed on the garden trellis.

My first instinct was to reach for the camera, but deciding it would be rude to interrupt the conversation, I stayed on the phone, fully expecting the bird to disappear.

Nearly twenty minutes later, after saying goodbye, I looked toward the garden in complete disbelief.

The cardinal was still there.

I quietly reached for my phone, managed to capture a single photograph,

and almost immediately afterward the bird took flight.

It became one of those quiet moments that seemed to reward patience.

A Gentle Ending

As darkness approached, I looked toward the southern sky and found myself captivated by the soft evening colors stretching across the horizon.

Earlier in the day I had considered it unproductive because of the unexpected hours spent sleeping.

Yet, as I reflected on everything the day had actually contained, another picture emerged.

I had welcomed another sunrise.

Shared memories of family.

Photographed squirrels, turkeys, and a cardinal.

Harvested another generous collection of vegetables.

Watered the garden and Fran's crape myrtle.

Solved the mystery of the pantry insects.

Shared laughter with my daughter.

Enjoyed conversations with family.

Witnessed another peaceful sunset.

Perhaps productivity isn't always measured by crossed-off lists. Sometimes it is measured by the moments we notice.

Today became less about accomplishments and more about awareness, a gentle reminder that while our bodies may occasionally ask us to slow down, slowing down often allows us to see the beauty we might otherwise have missed.

It was, in its own quiet way, a day well lived.

August 5, 2026

5:49 AM

It's 5:49 AM, and after making my way into the kitchen to prepare my first cup of coffee, I'm looking forward to what I hope will become another respectable morning watch.

One of the first things I noticed was that the deck furniture had remained relatively dry overnight. That came as somewhat of a surprise considering the current conditions, 68 degrees with a relative humidity of 90 percent. A light southeast breeze of about 3 mph must have been just enough to keep the heavy dew from settling as it often does.

Looking skyward, it quickly became apparent that the moon was doing its best to illuminate a ceiling filled with passing clouds.

Every so often it would peek through an opening, creating a soft, almost mystical glow that reminded me that even on cloudy mornings there's still beauty overhead if we simply take the time to look.

The forecast is calling for a mix of sun and clouds throughout most of the day, with only a 30 percent chance of showers arriving sometime around 7:00 this evening. With a little luck, perhaps the weather will cooperate, allowing for another enjoyable day outdoors rather than becoming a complete washout.

As always, coffee in hand, I'll settle into my chair and wait to see what surprises nature has planned for today's morning watch.

5:56 AM

At 5:56 AM, a single streetlight remains the only thing illuminating the landscape, quietly holding onto the last few moments of night.

The growing morning light, however, has become sufficient to reveal a sky filled with low, heavy cloud cover. With any luck, those clouds may provide the perfect canvas for some interesting sunrise photographs. Experience has taught me that some of the most memorable sunrises arrive on mornings just like this, when the sky appears least promising.

For now, there's nothing to do but wait, and I'm perfectly content with that, especially on a morning when the deck has remained relatively dry. The air still feels heavy with humidity, but I'm hopeful that the southeast breeze will strengthen a bit, drying the atmosphere as well as the remaining traces of moisture before I carry my coffee outside.

In a few moments, I'll make my way to the deck table, settle into my familiar chair, and begin yet another morning watch. Whether the sunrise chooses to put on a spectacular performance or simply eases quietly into another day really isn't the point. The greatest reward has always been having the opportunity to be there to witness whatever nature decides to offer.

There is something symbolic in the recent photograph. The streetlight and the coming sunrise almost represent a changing of the guard. The artificial light has faithfully carried the darkness through the night, but its job is nearly finished. Before long, the sun will take over, and the streetlight's contribution will quietly fade into the background until another evening calls it back into service. It's a simple transition that often goes unnoticed, yet it's one of those small moments that seems to fit perfectly with the reflective tone of my morning watches.

6:06 AM

It's 6:06 AM, and after making my way out to the deck table with coffee in hand, I instinctively turned and looked westward above the ridgeline of our home's roof.

Almost immediately, I noticed that the cloud cover in that direction appeared to be breaking apart. Patches of blue sky were beginning to emerge between the drifting clouds, giving the impression that the atmosphere was slowly beginning to reorganize itself after the night.

That small change was encouraging. Although the eastern horizon still remains mostly hidden behind a blanket of low clouds, the clearing overhead offers hope that the morning may yet have a surprise in store.

More often than not, it's these gradual transitions that produce the most interesting sunrises, with shafts of light finding their way through openings that didn't exist just a few minutes earlier.

For now, there's little to do except sip another cup of coffee, keep one eye on the eastern horizon, and allow nature to unfold at its own pace. Morning Watch has officially begun, and as always, patience is one of its greatest rewards.

One detail that stands out to me in the last image is the contrast between the textured gray clouds and the growing patch of blue overhead. It's almost as if the sky is quietly making a promise that the gloomy start to the day won't necessarily define how the rest of it unfolds. That seems like a fitting thought for a Morning Watch, sometimes all it takes is one opening in the clouds to change the entire character of the day.

6:10 AM

As I prepared to settle into my chair at the deck table and officially begin this morning's watch, I inadvertently tipped over a container of grape tomatoes that had been sitting beside yesterday's harvest.

My first reaction was, "Dammit... don't be so clumsy."

Then I paused.

Scattered across the tabletop, the bright red tomatoes seemed to create a scene I probably never would have arranged intentionally. What had started as a simple accident suddenly looked like an interesting photograph waiting to be taken. Nature, once again, had quietly reminded me that perfection isn't always the most beautiful outcome.

After gathering the tomatoes and returning them to their container, another thought crossed my mind.

Who am I going to call today to help lighten the load of yesterday's harvest?

The garden has once again been more generous than one person could ever hope to consume. The peppers continue to produce, the tomatoes seem determined to ripen faster than I can eat them, and the squash shows no signs of slowing down. It's the kind of "problem" every gardener hopes to have, yet it always leaves me searching for family, friends, and neighbors who might enjoy sharing in the rewards.

As I sat back with my coffee, surrounded by the colorful evidence of another successful season, I couldn't help but feel grateful. The morning watch had barely begun, and already it had offered another gentle reminder that sometimes life's little mishaps become its most memorable moments.

Morning Observation

After a brief but thorough perusal of my surroundings, I was reminded that one project has reached the point where it simply can't be put off much longer.

The basil cuttings that have been rooting in water have developed an impressive network of healthy white roots and are more than ready to be transplanted, either into a pot or directly into the garden.

The sooner, the better.

Standing proudly behind them are the two mature basil plants that have become faithful companions throughout much of this summer's cooking. Between homemade pasta sauces, seafood dishes, fresh salads, and countless other recipes, they've contributed far more than I ever expected when I first planted them.

It's remarkable how a few small cuttings, placed in nothing more than a jar of water, have quietly prepared themselves to become an entirely new generation of plants. Nature has a way of reminding us that growth often begins in the simplest of places, requiring little more than patience and a bit of care.

Before many more mornings pass, I'll have to find these young plants a permanent home, giving them the opportunity to continue what their parent plants have started.

One thing I've noticed over the past several weeks of my Morning Watch entries is that our deck has gradually become more than just a place to drink coffee. It's almost like an outdoor studio and observation post. On any given morning, it may hold my coffee mug, a basket of tomatoes, peppers fresh from the garden, rooted basil cuttings, or a camera waiting for wildlife. Each item tells a small part of the story of my day before the day has really even begun, and together they create a setting that has become very much my own.

Yesterday afternoon, after awakening from my unplanned and rather lengthy nap, I wandered into the pantry looking for something. To be perfectly honest, I don't even remember what I had gone in there to find.

As I began moving things around on the top shelf, however, I discovered a few more patches of spilled coating mix scattered across the surface. Needless to say, my search for whatever I had intended to retrieve immediately took a back seat.

I removed everything from the shelf and gave it what I hope was a thorough cleaning, making certain that every trace of the spilled flour was gone before returning the contents to their proper places.

Since waking up this morning, I haven't seen a single one of those tiny flying annoyances anywhere in the kitchen, or for that matter, anywhere else in the house. Of course, the day is still young, and only time will tell whether I've finally solved the mystery.

I'm hopeful that hidden patches of flour were the last remaining breeding ground for those persistent little pests. If that's the case, perhaps this long-running battle is finally coming to an end.

Sometimes the solution isn't complicated at all. It simply requires looking one shelf deeper than you did the day before.

6:40 AM

At 6:40 AM, it's becoming quite evident that the clouds are beginning to loosen their grip on this morning's sunrise.

Although they're still very much a part of the landscape, I can see them slowly dispersing under the influence of a strengthening south easterly breeze. The movement has become much more noticeable over the past half hour, giving the sky a sense of life and motion that wasn't there when I first stepped outside.

That same breeze is making my morning watch even more enjoyable. Not only is it ushering the clouds along, but it's also beginning to dry the humid air that lingered from the overnight hours. What started as a rather damp and heavy morning is gradually becoming much more comfortable.

Sometimes the beauty of a sunrise isn't found in brilliant shades of orange and crimson.

Sometimes it's found in quietly watching the sky evolve, minute by minute, as darkness gives way to daylight and a once-solid blanket of clouds slowly yields to patches of blue.

This morning has been less about dramatic colors and more about gentle change, a reminder that nature doesn't always announce itself with fireworks. More often, it works patiently, one breeze and one drifting cloud at a time.

As I continue my morning watch, coffee in hand, I find myself appreciating not only what I can see but also what I can feel. The cool breeze, the freshening air, and the slow transformation of the sky are every bit as much a part of the experience as the sunrise itself.

As I sit here soaking up as much of this morning as I can, I can't help but wonder what the rest of the day will bring, or perhaps more appropriately, what I might bring to the day.

Since I finished the last of the blueberry muffins yesterday, the thought has already crossed my mind that perhaps it's time to make another batch.

If memory serves me correctly, I still have blueberries tucked away in both refrigerators, some picked from the garden and others purchased, then frozen while patiently waiting their turn to become yet another delectable morning treat.

Of course, that's just one of the countless thoughts that seem to parade through my mind almost every morning while I sit here with a cup of coffee, watching another day slowly come to life. There are always recipes to try, vegetables to harvest, photographs to take, projects waiting to be finished, and family or friends who might appreciate a surprise delivery from the kitchen.

Whether I actually bake those muffins today remains to be seen.

If I get to it, wonderful.

If I don't, that's perfectly all right too.

One of the nice things about retirement is realizing that not every idea has to become today's project. Sometimes it's enough simply to enjoy the anticipation, knowing there will hopefully be another morning, another cup of coffee, and another opportunity waiting just around the corner.

Earlier in life, there was often pressure to accomplish everything on the list. Now, my Morning Watch has become a place where possibilities are considered without obligation. That gentle pace seems to be one of the defining characteristics of my mornings, and, I suspect, one of the reasons they're so meaningful.

6:49 AM

At 6:49 AM, I'm noticing that the southerly wind has picked up considerably, bringing with it a refreshing coolness to the morning air. It's not quite enough to make me reach for a jacket, but it's certainly enough to remind me that summer mornings have a personality all their own.

I first became aware of the breeze as I felt it gently brush across my skin. Then, as I looked out across the landscape before me, I could see its quiet handiwork. The leaves in the trees had begun their gentle dance, the ornamental grasses swayed gracefully back and forth, and even the potted plants on the deck responded with the slightest movement.

It's fascinating how something as invisible as the wind can make its presence known in so many different ways. We never actually see the breeze itself, only the countless things it touches along its journey.

This morning, the wind seems determined to freshen the air, carry away the lingering humidity, and slowly usher the clouds farther east. In doing so, it has added yet another dimension to today's Morning Watch, reminding me that sometimes the most meaningful parts of nature's performance are those we feel rather than those we see.

The morning has unfolded almost step by step: first the moon and cloud cover, then the gradual brightening of the sky, followed by the clouds beginning to break apart, and now the strengthening breeze that is actively reshaping the landscape. Rather than simply witnessing a sunrise, I've been documenting the morning as a living process, where light, clouds, wind, and temperature each take their turn in telling the story of a new day.

Around 7:00 AM

At around 7:00 AM, I began feeling the first few raindrops of the morning.

Not wanting to leave yesterday's harvest sitting out on the deck table, I gathered a couple handfuls of sweet peppers and headed back into the house. Once inside, I opened the refrigerator only to discover that I already had quite an abundance of peppers waiting there from previous harvests.

That settled it.

This morning's agenda suddenly changed.

Rather than simply putting everything away, I decided it was time to prepare another batch of Sunceri's famous roasted peppers. or at least my version of them.

After slicing the peppers into rings, I added onions, fresh mushrooms, plenty of garlic, and a can of fire-roasted tomatoes before transferring everything to a casserole dish.

The mixture was filled almost to the brim, leaving little room for anything else.

That's perfectly all right, though.

After an hour or so in the oven, the vegetables will soften and release much of their moisture, shrinking enough to create plenty of room for the next addition. a generous helping of fresh, homegrown tomatoes that were still sitting on the deck waiting their turn.

Sometimes the garden dictates the menu more than the cook does. When the harvest keeps coming, preserving those fresh flavors becomes just another enjoyable part of the season.

As I looked at the colorful peppers spread across the cutting board, I couldn't help but smile. Just a little while earlier, I had been sitting quietly on the deck wondering what the day might bring.

Now I had my answer.

The rain had simply nudged me from the deck chair to the kitchen, where another chapter of this summer's harvest was waiting to be written.

A Morning Side Note

Just as a side note, I still hadn't forgotten about those blueberry muffins.

In fact, I thought one would taste awfully good at that moment.

After returning to the deck only a few minutes ago, the rain has decided to make another appearance.

Go figure.

Perhaps Mother Nature is trying to tell me something.

Maybe she's suggesting that instead of sitting outside waiting for the next break in the weather, I ought to head back into the kitchen, pull those frozen blueberries from the refrigerator, and let the aroma of fresh muffins fill the house.

Then again...

The rain may stop just as quickly as it started, and I'll find myself right back here on the deck with another cup of coffee.

Either way, it's not a bad dilemma to have.

I have to admit, there's a certain irony to this morning. I began by wondering what the day would bring. Since then I've watched the sky change, admired the basil, cleaned up after my harvest, chased a passing rain shower indoors, prepared a casserole of roasted peppers, and now the weather is teasing me with the possibility of blueberry muffins.

If someone, besides me, had written this as a story, the title might well be "The Day the Rain Couldn't Decide."  Meanwhile, I'm doing what I've always done, adapting to whatever the day offers and somehow turning it into something enjoyable. That's apparently become one of the enduring themes of my Morning Watch.

Later This Morning

In an attempt not to let the intermittent raindrops interfere with my Morning Watch, I reclaimed my familiar seat on the deck shortly after placing the roasted peppers in the oven.

It wasn't long before I heard a deep rumbling in the distance.

My first thought was that perhaps another round of thunderstorms was making its approach. Considering the darkening skies and the occasional raindrops, it certainly seemed like a reasonable assumption.

A few moments later, however, I realized the sound wasn't coming from the clouds at all.

Instead, it was the unmistakable rumble of heavy earth-moving equipment making its way across the middle school parking lot before heading down to the high school, where the renovation project continues to reshape a familiar part of the neighborhood.

For just a brief moment, I found myself wishing my first assumption had been the correct one.

Thunder somehow seems more at home during a quiet morning watch than the steady growl of construction machinery.

Still, life has a way of reminding us that nature and progress often share the same landscape. One moment I'm listening to birds, feeling the cool breeze, and watching raindrops fall from the sky. The next, enormous machines roll by, each carrying out its own purpose, contributing to a different kind of change.

Such is the rhythm of life.

The photograph captures exactly that contrast. In the foreground are the quiet elements of my morning, the wet pavement, lush green grass, and overhanging oak branches. Partially hidden beyond them is the massive construction vehicle, almost peeking through the trees. It's as though the natural world is trying to maintain the serenity of my Morning Watch while the modern world politely announces, "We're awake now too."

That contrast between peaceful observation and everyday activity is something I've tried to capture in this blog, over the past several weeks. It reminds me that a morning doesn't have to be perfectly quiet to be meaningful; sometimes it's the blend of birdsong, breeze, rain, and even a little machinery that makes it feel real.

3:00 PM

After spending much of the morning and early afternoon in the kitchen roasting peppers, baking blueberry muffins, and eventually cleaning up the disaster area I had created, I finally escaped to the deck once again. It was a welcome reward.

The temperature had climbed to 85°, the humidity hovered around 65%, and a gentle breeze drifted in from the south at about four miles per hour. Despite the warmth, it felt refreshing after several hours in the kitchen.

My latest blueberry muffin experiment didn't quite go as planned. The beautiful domed tops I had envisioned never materialized. Instead, many of the muffins sank in the center as they cooled.

Looking back, I think I can identify two likely culprits. I chose silicone muffin pans rather than my jumbo metal pans, hoping to stretch the batter beyond a single dozen. More importantly, I made a classic baker's mistake. I saw "425 degrees for 15 to 18 minutes" and somehow failed to notice the next instruction telling me to reduce the oven to 350 degrees to finish the bake. By the time I realized the centers weren't done, the muffins had already developed their outer crust, and even an extra 10 to 15 minutes wasn't quite enough to save them completely. The streusel topping I had so carefully prepared all but disappeared into the batter as well.

Fortunately, they still tasted wonderful. Sometimes flavor wins even when appearance falls short. Every batch teaches another lesson, and today simply provided a few more. As the old saying goes, the third time may very well be the charm.

I'm already looking forward to proving it.

August 6, 2026

7:31 AM

It was 7:31 this morning before I finally managed to coax myself out of bed.

I had actually been awake around 4:30 AM, pacing the floor while trying to work the cramp out of one of my legs. Once the pain eased, though, there wasn't much debate, I headed right back to bed for a few more hours of sleep.

When I finally got up, I already knew what I'd find waiting outside. Before I even pulled back the curtains, I had a pretty good feeling that this wasn't going to be one of those mornings I look forward to.

Sure enough, the sky was completely covered in a blanket of gray clouds.

The temperature was already 70 degrees, the humidity sat at a sticky 95 percent, and the air felt heavy enough that everything outdoors remained damp. With only a light south-southwest breeze, there wasn't much hope of drying things out anytime soon.

Unfortunately, today's forecast offers little encouragement. The possibility of showers hangs over much of the day, and looking ahead, the rest of the week doesn't appear to promise much improvement either.

Still, even on a morning like this, the garden provides a welcome reminder that nature has a way of balancing things out.

The tomatoes and peppers resting on the deck table add a splash of color against an otherwise gray landscape, a small but welcome reward for the work that's gone into tending the garden all summer long.

Some mornings begin with a brilliant sunrise and endless optimism. Others simply ask us to accept them for what they are. Today appears to be one of those days.

8:57 AM

It's now 8:57 AM, and after standing in the kitchen peering through the patio doors at what appeared to be a rather unwelcoming morning, I finally came to a conclusion.

It was time to wake up the Squeegee Team.

Within a few minutes, the deck was dry enough to reclaim my usual seat at the table, and I made my way outdoors, prepared for what I'm assuming will be, at least temporarily, another morning watch.

The sky remains mostly cloud covered, but every now and then a few rays of sunlight manage to peek through the breaks, offering just enough encouragement to keep hope alive. Whether those brief moments of brightness are the beginning of something better or simply teasing what's to come, only time will tell.

Truth be told, I'm really not certain what today will bring, weather-wise or otherwise. Sometimes that's just the nature of life. We make our plans, step outside, and let the day unfold one moment at a time.

So for now, I'll continue surveying the landscape in search of... well, who knows what.

A fresh cup of coffee rests close at hand, while a little smooth jazz drifts from the kitchen and out across the deck, providing a gentle soundtrack for another quiet morning. Even beneath a blanket of gray skies, there are still moments worth appreciating if we're willing to slow down long enough to notice them.

10:58 AM

It's now 10:58 AM, and despite the gloomy start to the day, my morning watch has turned out to be anything but uneventful.

As you can see from the photographs, I've had no shortage of visitors this morning. A rabbit paused long enough to pose for a couple of photographs before continuing on its way,

while several wild turkeys made their usual rounds across the field.

There were quite a few other feathered and furry visitors, including my squirekl buddies and the elusive cardinal that set up housekeeping in the pine tree as well, but many of them were simply moving too quickly for the camera, and me, to keep up.

Between wildlife sightings, I decided it was time to pay another visit to the garden.

The harvest continues to amaze me.

This morning I gathered another generous assortment of vegetables, tomatoes, peppers, onions, cucumbers, and squash.

Looking over the beds afterward, I couldn't help but smile because there is still an abundance waiting on the vines. Nature, it seems, isn't quite finished providing for the season.

It's mornings like this that remind me why I enjoy spending so much time out here on the deck. Even when the weather refuses to cooperate, there's always something happening if you're patient enough to watch. One moment it's a rabbit quietly nibbling along the roadside. The next, a pair of turkeys strolls across the field as though they own the neighborhood. Then it's back to the garden, where another basket of fresh vegetables waits to be picked.

The sunshine may still be hiding behind the clouds today, but there has certainly been no shortage of life.

There is something symbolic in these photographs. Earlier this morning my focus was on the gray skies. By late morning, my attention had shifted almost entirely to what was happening beneath those skies, the harvest, the wildlife, the quiet rhythm of the garden, and another peaceful morning on the deck with coffee in hand.

Sometimes the sky sets the mood, but the life unfolding below it ends up telling the better story.

11:36 AM 

After putting together a box of fresh vegetables from the garden, along with a couple of blueberry muffins and one of my Japanese milk bread pastries, I walked them over to my neighbor's house. Sharing part of the garden's harvest always seems a fitting reward after months of tending it.

When I returned home and stepped into the kitchen, I couldn't help but notice the room growing noticeably brighter. Looking through the patio doors, it became obvious why. The cloud cover that had dominated much of the morning was beginning to break apart, allowing the old haymaker to do what it does best. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly sunlight transforms everything. The lawn takes on a richer shade of green, the trees seem to come alive, and even the garden appears to stand a little taller. Nature has a remarkable way of changing the mood of an entire day in just a matter of minutes.

This photograph also captures an interesting transition. The sky isn't completely blue, nor is it completely overcast. It's caught in the middle of changing. Those are often my favorite weather photographs because they tell a story rather than simply recording a condition.

There's another thread running through today's journal that I really enjoy. This morning began with coffee, watering the garden, and watching contrails. By late morning, the harvest from that same garden had become a gift for a neighbor. It ties the whole morning together beautifully. The vegetables I've nurtured over the past several months are now bringing a little enjoyment to someone else's day, and that's one of the nicest rewards a gardener can have.

August 7, 2026

6:33 AM

Yet another morning has arrived under skies that are less than inviting. The temperature currently stands at a comfortable 68°, but the humidity has climbed to a rather oppressive 97%. The air is nearly motionless, with only the slightest breeze drifting in from the south at about 1 mph.

Given those conditions, I don't expect the deck or the outdoor furniture to dry very quickly. Surprisingly, though, the moisture on the horizontal surfaces is minimal. It appears that a few paper towels may be all that's needed to take care of the remaining dampness. With any luck, the squeegee team may just earn another well-deserved day off, although I'll reserve that final decision until after a couple of cups of coffee.

The forecast for today isn't particularly encouraging. A brief glimpse of sunshine is expected until around 7:00 AM before skies become mostly cloudy through much of the afternoon. By around 3:00 PM, rain is expected to move into the area and continue through the evening, with the chance of precipitation hovering around 80%.

Despite the less-than-ideal forecast, there is something quietly comforting about this morning.

The clouds are layered with remarkable texture, allowing soft patches of light to filter through as if the sun is patiently waiting for an opportunity to make an appearance.

Whether it succeeds or not remains to be seen, but as has so often been the case, hope seems to arrive each morning long before the sunshine does.

For now, the coffee is calling, and with it begins another morning watch. The weather may dictate where I spend the day, but it doesn't have to determine how I choose to experience it.

7:05 AM

At around 7:05 this morning, I finally made my way outdoors. A couple of paper towels were all that was needed to dry off one of the chairs and the tabletop, confirming my suspicion that the squeegee team would indeed enjoy another day off.

After retrieving the seat cushion and making one final trip back into the house for my coffee, I settled into my chair, looking forward to what I hoped would be another peaceful morning watch.

I don't believe I had been seated for more than a minute.

At first, only a few raindrops began falling. Within seconds, those few drops became several more, and almost as quickly they turned into a steady, consistent rainfall.

Go figure.

It almost seemed as though Mother Nature had waited patiently for me to get comfortable before deciding it was her turn to take over the morning. Fortunately, I had already lowered the umbrella earlier, so I wasn't caught completely off guard. Still, my plans for a quiet sunrise meditation quickly gave way to the familiar sound of raindrops dancing overhead.

If there's one thing I've learned from these morning watches, it's that nature always has the final say. Some mornings she rewards patience with a brilliant sunrise. Other mornings she reminds me that even the best-laid plans can change in an instant. Either way, there's always something worth seeing, hearing, or simply experiencing.

This morning, it was the rain. And, as always, the coffee somehow tasted just a little bit better while listening to it.

8:31 PM

As this day draws toward a close, the weather outside is, to say the least, quite unstable.

For the past couple of hours, the evening has been punctuated by rolling thunder and repeated flashes of lightning, each one reminding me that Mother Nature is very much in command tonight.

At around 8:05 PM, when this photograph was taken, the rain had intensified into an absolute deluge.

Sheets of water poured from the sky with such force that the trees beyond the deck became partially veiled behind a curtain of rain. It was one of those downpours where individual raindrops disappear, replaced instead by what seems like an endless wall of water.

Since then, the intensity has eased somewhat. The rain has slowed considerably, but by no means has it stopped. It continues to fall steadily, accompanied by distant rumbles of thunder and the occasional brilliant flash of lightning illuminating the evening sky.

It's remarkable to think that this morning began with uncertainty over whether the deck would dry enough for my morning watch. A couple of paper towels proved to be all that was needed, only to have the rain arrive within moments of my settling into the chair with my coffee. Now, nearly fourteen hours later, the day has come full circle, ending much the same way it unfolded, under gray skies, with rain providing the soundtrack.

Perhaps that's the lesson this day offered. Not every morning greets us with sunshine, and not every evening rewards us with a colorful sunset. Yet even on days dominated by clouds and rain, there is still beauty to be found, in the texture of the storm clouds, in the rhythmic cadence of raindrops on the deck, and in the quiet satisfaction of seeing a table filled with vegetables harvested before the heavens opened once again.

Some days are remembered for what we accomplish. Others are remembered simply because we took the time to witness them. Today, despite the weather's persistent interruptions, was certainly one of the latter.

8:40 PM

The rolling thunder continues unabated, and the flashes of lightning have become even more frequent.

Several times this evening, the thunderclaps have been so intense that I could actually feel the walls of the house trembling. It's a sensation that never fails to command respect, serving as a powerful reminder of just how much energy is contained within a summer thunderstorm.

As I look through the patio doors toward the street, the scene is almost surreal. The amount of water covering the pavement is so great that it resembles a shallow lake more than a roadway. Strong gusts of wind are pushing the runoff so forcefully that it actually appears to be flowing uphill, defying what your eyes expect to see. It's one of those rare moments when nature seems determined to rewrite the rules, even if only for a few minutes.

Thus far, the evening has been interesting, to say the least.

This morning, I cautiously carried my coffee outside only to have the rain begin within moments of taking my seat. Now, as the day nears its end, that gentle interruption has evolved into a full-fledged display of nature's raw power. The quiet morning shower has given way to booming thunder, brilliant flashes of lightning, and torrents of rain that have transformed the landscape before my eyes.

As impressive as the storm has been, there is also something comforting about watching it unfold from the warmth and safety of home. Through the glass of the patio doors, I can simply observe, listen, and appreciate the incredible forces at work outside.

Days like today remind me that while we often make our plans, Mother Nature is always the one who has the final word.

12:30 PM

I think I'm slowly losing my mind today.

With the rain continuing to fall and the weather offering little incentive to be outdoors, I decided to head downstairs to my family room and office to spend some time working on blog entries. Somewhere along the way, however, productivity gave way to curiosity as I found myself watching several YouTube videos. Before long, I had drifted off to sleep in the chair.

The dream that followed was incredibly vivid, one of those dreams that feels so real it lingers long after you awaken.

When I finally made my way upstairs, something immediately seemed wrong. As I reached the top of the landing, the house was filled with bright light. The sun wasn't shining; there was still plenty of cloud cover, and the rain continued to fall. Yet my first thought was, Why is it so bright in the middle of the night?

For nearly a minute, I stood there trying to make sense of it.

Then it hit me.

It wasn't midnight.

It was noon.

From the time I had gone downstairs until the moment I returned upstairs, my body and mind had somehow convinced me that an entire day had passed. I actually had to check several clocks, the television, my phone, and even ask the Amazon Echo, just to convince myself that it really was 12:30 in the afternoon.

It was one of the strangest sensations I've experienced in quite some time.

Perhaps watching a documentary about Rod Serling and The Twilight Zone before falling asleep wasn't the best choice. It certainly seemed fitting that, upon waking, I felt as though I had stepped into one of his episodes where time quietly slips away without anyone noticing.

Looking back over my journal notes from today, I made another discovery. Apparently, I had begun recording the time as PM shortly after 8:31 AM. Somehow, I had already lost my sense of time well before I ever fell asleep.

Maybe today wasn't about losing my mind after all.

Maybe it was simply one of those rare days when time decided to play a practical joke.

5:19 PM

It’s 5:19 PM and I’ve just finished preparing six chicken thighs that I flattened with a kitchen mallet and layered with mozzarella cheese and ham, season lightly, then rolled up and placed in a baking dish,

seasoned the skin side lightly again, and sprinkled pan of breadcrumbs lightly over top. I placed them in a 350° preheated oven, where they remained until an internal temp of 160 degrees is reached.

6:08 PM

It’s 6:08 PM and the chicken is just come out of the oven After 45 minutes, it had reached an internal temperature of 165+ degrees but the top is looking a little pale, so I put it under the broiler for about three minutes.

Right now it’s looking pretty good in the aroma coming off of the baking dish is hedging on amazing. I’ll let it rest for about 10 or 15 minutes before I cut into one.

August 8, 2026

The day began on a decidedly gloomy note. At 6:48 AM, the morning was dark, damp, dreary, and dismal, with a temperature of 68°, humidity at 94%, and the deck still saturated from overnight rain. There was little incentive to head outdoors immediately, and the morning watch initially remained an indoor affair.

By 7:11 AM, the landscape still carried a misty, almost mysterious quality. A low band of fog lingered over the distant hillside to the south, creating a scene reminiscent of Gorillas in the Mist.

Even then, however, subtle changes were beginning overhead as lighter areas appeared within the cloud cover.

Only minutes later, the weather began changing rather dramatically.

Blue sky slowly pushed through the gray, the clouds started breaking apart, and sunlight began illuminating their edges. The transition from a nearly solid gray ceiling to patches of blue happened quickly enough to make the morning feel entirely different.

By 7:52 AM, the squeegee team had completed another successful mission, allowing the morning watch to move outdoors. While seated at the deck table, I noticed how the sunrise is gradually shifting southward again as summer begins moving toward fall.

Wildlife activity soon became part of the show as well. A cardinal briefly disappeared into the spruce tree, another small bird was photographed among the branches,

and before long the turkeys could be heard making their way up the hillside.

A squirrel even managed to be caught in midair as it dashed across the neighboring property.

Around 9:00 AM, a few sprinkles sent me back indoors and provided the perfect excuse to resume my ongoing muffin experiment. This time I abandoned the silicone trays and returned to the old, well-seasoned jumbo muffin tins with liners. I also committed myself to the baking method I had neglected previously: beginning at 425° for about seven minutes, then reducing the oven to 350° until the muffins were thoroughly baked.

The weather continued to play hide-and-seek throughout the morning. Bright sunshine would appear, only to disappear behind clouds moments later, then return again. That alternating sequence of gray skies, sunshine, sprinkles, clouds, and more sunshine gave the morning a constantly changing character.

The muffin experiment ultimately proved successful. I divided the batter into two versions: six blueberry muffins and six pumpkin-spice muffins.

The pumpkin-spice version was layered with a generous ribbon of pumpkin-spice sugar through the middle and topped with streusel.

I became a little over enthusiastic with the broiler and left them under it slightly too long, but once cooled and cut open, both versions were moist, fully baked, and had wonderfully crunchy tops.

The discovery that I had been using jumbo tins rather than regular muffin tins also explained why earlier batches had needed considerably more baking time.

Later in the afternoon, I went to dinner with cousin Frank and his family at a long established Italian restaurant in Greensburg. The food was very enjoyable, but the conversation was even better. Italian and Mediterranean restaurants have always seemed to be our natural destination when going out, and today was no exception. I returned home around 5:30 PM. At that point the temperature was still 82°, humidity was 71%, and a comfortable southwest breeze made the evening feel surprisingly pleasant.

Once back home, I settled onto the deck and took in a beautiful late-summer view.

The sky had opened into blue and white, the grass and trees were intensely green from the recent rain, and the entire hillside had that freshly washed appearance that only comes after a damp spell followed by sunshine.

Shortly after taking my seat, I received a phone call from my son and daughter-in-law, who were driving home to North Carolina after vacationing in Maine. Somewhere along the way they had gotten sidetracked and ended up traveling through the outskirts of Manhattan, costing them roughly two hours in traffic. My son was understandably irritated, but I reminded him that worse things happen in life and that there was little sense carrying the aggravation with him for the rest of the drive.

Looking back over the day, it seems to have been another one built around changing conditions and small pleasures: a gloomy morning that transformed into sunshine, plenty of backyard wildlife, a successful return to muffin making, a very enjoyable dinner with family, and an evening spent back on the deck watching the world settle down.

A possible title that seems to fit the entire day is:

“It Pays to Keep Watching”

That thought appeared earlier in the day as the weather repeatedly changed before my eyes, but it seems equally appropriate for the day as a whole.

August 9, 2026

A Quiet Sunday, the Garden, and a Family Tradition

Sunday began exactly the way I like a Sunday morning to begin, quietly.

I spent nearly two hours dedicated to my morning watch, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Being Sunday, there was very little traffic on the road above me. Every once in a while someone would walk or run past, but otherwise there wasn't much to disturb the peacefulness of the morning. It was one of those occasions when simply sitting, watching and listening seemed like a perfectly worthwhile way to spend the time.

As the day progressed, I eventually turned my attention to some chores around the house and garden. Among them was transplanting some of the basil plants I had been tending in the garage. With tomatoes continuing to ripen and basil doing well, the garden is certainly beginning to repay all of the time and effort that went into it earlier in the season.

By late afternoon I had made my way back to my favorite chair at the deck table. At 4:49 PM, the weather was about as pleasant as I could have asked for, 85 degrees, relative humidity of only 45%, and a fairly brisk 8 mph breeze coming out of the west.

Despite the warmth, the lower humidity and breeze made sitting outside extremely comfortable.

The atmosphere remained remarkably quiet and laid-back, much as it had been throughout the morning, and I certainly had no complaints about that.

Earlier I had harvested several tomatoes from the garden.

Some weren't completely ripe but had fallen from the vines before they were quite ready, while others had bruises that made them less than ideal for slicing or eating as they were. That certainly didn't mean they were going to waste.

A little after 5:00 PM, I gathered those bruised tomatoes and brought them into the kitchen with another purpose in mind, one that has been part of our family for many years.

I briefly blanched the tomatoes in boiling water so the skins could easily be removed. Once peeled, I crushed the tomatoes by hand rather than running them through a machine or food processor.

Fresh basil was sliced extremely fine and placed into my mortar, where I worked it with the pestle.

Four rather large cloves of garlic were sliced very thin and added to the basil, followed by some olive oil.

After everything had been thoroughly worked together, that wonderfully fragrant mixture went directly into the bowl of freshly crushed tomatoes.

And that was essentially it.

No complicated list of ingredients and no elaborate cooking process, just fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic and olive oil, with most of what went into the bowl having come directly from my own garden.

The sauce will now have some time for those individual flavors to become acquainted before being refrigerated for the night. Tomorrow I'll bring it back toward room temperature, and with any luck tomorrow night's dinner will include that fresh tomato sauce served over some homemade pasta.

There is something particularly satisfying about finding a use for tomatoes that might otherwise have been discarded because they were bruised or imperfect. But there is something considerably more meaningful about this particular dish.

I've been making some version of this fresh tomato, garlic and basil sauce for decades. It is one of those wonderfully simple family traditions in which there was never much need for a written recipe. You simply knew how it was supposed to be made.

Perhaps that is one of the things I appreciate more and more these days. A Sunday doesn't necessarily have to contain anything extraordinary to be memorable.

Sometimes a quiet morning on the deck, a little work in the garden, beautiful late-summer weather, a handful of imperfect tomatoes and the preparation of an old family recipe are more than enough.

Today was that kind of Sunday.

August10, 2026

From the Morning Watch to an Airborne Umbrella

The day began at about 6:27 AM when I opened the patio door and was immediately greeted by what felt like a wall of warm, moist air. The temperature was already 70° with relative humidity at 92%, accompanied by only a light southerly breeze of about 4 mph.

I had managed to sleep about an hour longer than usual, which was probably a good thing. Outside, the horizon was beginning to brighten and the clouds appeared to be slowly dispersing as the morning sun gradually made itself known. From inside, the deck didn't appear particularly wet, and I thought perhaps the morning watch could begin with little more than a few paper towels rather than a full deployment of the squeegee team.

By 8:01 AM, I had settled into the quiet of the morning. The southerly breeze had picked up enough to cool things considerably, and somewhat surprisingly for an August morning, I actually had to return to the house for a light jacket.

There wasn't much activity for a Monday morning. Several young girls passed by running, presumably training for an upcoming track or cross-country season. A few squirrels made their customary high-speed dashes back and forth across the road.

The sky continued to change, and before long the old haymaker finally began breaking through the clouds.

Sitting at the deck table with my coffee, garden tomatoes nearby and the sunlight filtering through the trees made for another one of those simple morning scenes that I've come to appreciate.

Back to the Garden

Shortly after 8:00, I made my way down to the garden and removed what remained of my original lettuce planting. In its place, I planted three additional varieties of lettuce along with a couple varieties of spinach. Hopefully there will still be enough growing season remaining to get a harvest before the first frost arrives.

I also removed what remained of the cucumber plants from the trellis, including the clips that had supported them, did some weeding and picked several more tomatoes.

After approximately two hours, however, my energy was pretty well spent.

I continue to be concerned about the noticeable decline in my stamina. I realize that I'm not getting any younger, but less than a year ago I seemed capable of considerably more physical activity than I am today. Lately it seems that most of my get-up-and-go simply got up and went.

Perhaps that's something I need to pay a little more attention to rather than automatically attributing it to age.

And Then the Weather Changed

Sometime after noon, I returned indoors and went downstairs to the family room/office to catch up on some paperwork.

Before going inside, I noticed some rather heavy-looking clouds moving in and had enough foresight to put the seat cushions back into their storage bin.

Unfortunately, I neglected one rather important detail:

I didn't lower the deck umbrella.

While I was downstairs, the weather deteriorated rather quickly. The rain began coming down heavily and the wind increased considerably. At one point I heard an unusual noise but didn't think much about it.

When I eventually looked outside, I discovered what that noise probably had been.

The wind had lifted the umbrella completely out of the deck table and deposited it against and through the porch railing.

Fortunately, after examining it more closely, the damage doesn't appear to be fatal. The ribs themselves seem to have survived, but four of them nearly tore completely through the stitched pockets in the canopy that normally hold them in position.

It will require some serious stitching, a strong needle and thread, and probably a fair amount of patience, but I think the umbrella may be salvageable.

I do have another umbrella in the garage that I bought on sale last fall, so I'm certainly not without a replacement. Still, if I can repair this one and get some additional life out of it, that seems like the better option.

Oh well, another day in the life of me.

A Brief Detour Into Spider-Plant Parenthood

At some point during the day, my attention turned to the two spider plants my daughter bought for me about two years ago when they were still in little four-inch pots.

Amazingly, both continue to thrive and now have more than a dozen little plants dangling from their runners.

I learned that these little offspring, appropriately called spiderettes or plantlets, can easily be turned into entirely new plants. One particularly simple method is to place a baby into a small pot of soil while leaving it attached to the mother plant. Once it develops its own root system, the connecting runner can be cut.

Another option is to remove a plantlet and root it in water before transferring it to soil.

Considering the number currently hanging from my plants, it appears that I may soon be dealing with something of a spider-plant housing crisis.

Apparently the mothers have done their part. Finding homes for all the children has now become my responsibility.

After the Storm

By approximately 5:00 PM the rain had stopped, at least temporarily, and the squeegee team, having escaped duty earlier in the morning, was finally called into action.

I dried the deck and just about everything on it and took another look at the damaged umbrella.

That's when I became more convinced that it probably can be repaired, although those four damaged rib pockets are going to require considerably more than a token sewing effort.

At about 5:30, I called Fran's friend Nancy. She had contacted me yesterday about coming to her newly purchased house to look at a problem related to having her hardwood floors refinished and had suggested that I might come over this evening.

There was no answer when I called, however, so absent a return call, I decided that particular trip was no longer on today's agenda.

At 6:01 PM, the temperature was a rather balmy 78°, humidity remained at 79%, and there was a pleasant southwest breeze of about 8 mph. Unfortunately, the clouds showed little inclination to leave, giving the evening a somewhat gloomy appearance.

Still, I found myself thinking that I didn't really know what the remainder of the day would bring, but whatever it was, I hoped it would lean toward the positive.

An Unexpected Evening Education

At around 7:45 PM, another brief sprinkling of rain convinced me to return indoors. The rain itself didn't last very long, but I settled into my recliner and began watching YouTube.

Quite by accident, I came across videos made by an older gentleman who had spent more than 30 years working as a meat cutter.

What began as casual viewing became considerably more interesting than I expected.

He explained the differences among various cuts of beef and, particularly in light of today's extraordinarily high beef prices, discussed ways of getting excellent results from less expensive cuts rather than automatically buying premium steaks.

One point he repeatedly emphasized was the advantage of buying larger primal or subprimal cuts of beef and doing the final cutting yourself. From one larger piece, individual steaks or roasts can be cut; usable trimmings can be turned into ground beef; and the excess fat can be rendered into beef tallow for later cooking and basting.

It was a fascinating approach because very little needs to go to waste.

The gentleman has apparently produced quite a few videos, and I watched four or five of them before realizing how much of the evening had disappeared. He has also written a book on the subject. He never seemed particularly interested in pushing it, merely mentioning that it was available, which actually made me somewhat more interested in finding it. I may look it up and purchase a copy simply to keep as a reference.

I suspect this is another rabbit hole I've managed to discover, and knowing me, I'll probably have considerably more to say, and plenty of questions, once I get further into it.

Closing the Day

It's now 10:32 PM and rapidly approaching 11:00. I'll probably make my way downstairs shortly to the family room/office computer and begin turning today's collection of observations into blog entries.

Looking back, it was another one of those days that didn't seem particularly eventful while I was living through it, yet somehow accumulated quite a collection of little stories: a peaceful and humid morning watch, the return of the old haymaker, a productive couple of hours in the garden, some uncomfortable thoughts about declining stamina, an afternoon storm, an umbrella attempting unauthorized flight, the possibility of becoming a grandfather to a small army of spider plants, and an evening education in how to make better use of a side of beef.

Not necessarily the Monday I would have predicted when I opened that patio door at 6:27 this morning, but then again, they seldom are.

August 11, 2026

A Gray Day, Muffins, Rain and a Few Pleasant Surprises

Tuesday began at about 6:46 AM with weather that offered very little encouragement for spending much time outdoors. The temperature was 68°, humidity was at 93%, and a light southwest wind was moving at only three or four miles per hour.

The sky was heavily overcast, and the forecast called for clouds throughout the day with another substantial chance of rain beginning sometime around mid-afternoon and continuing well into the night.

Despite the rather dreary outlook, I eventually managed to spend some time outdoors on the deck during my morning watch. By around 9:30 AM, however, I began feeling a few drops of rain, which was enough encouragement to move back inside and turn my attention toward other things.

One of those things was another round of muffin making.

After the lessons learned from my recent experiments, particularly because I had actually been using jumbo muffin tins, I approached today's batch with considerably more confidence.

The results justified it. The muffins came out beautifully: thoroughly baked, wonderfully moist, and with the kind of top I had been trying to achieve.

Considering the number of experiments that have taken place recently in pursuit of the perfect muffin, it was nice to finally reach the point where there wasn't much left to criticize.

At some point during the morning I also finished my first pot of coffee, and the possibility of making another certainly crossed my mind. After all, serious negotiations, particularly those involving the squeegee team's union representation, apparently require considerable quantities of coffee. Fortunately, I had muffins available should bribery become necessary.

Sometime around 2:00 PM, I sat down in front of the television to watch a few YouTube videos and apparently fell asleep rather quickly. What I expected to be some casual television viewing turned into a substantial afternoon nap, and I didn't wake up until somewhere around 5:00 PM.

After getting up, I did a little cleanup in the kitchen, made myself a small snack of provolone cheese, crackers and mustard for dipping, and removed the recently baked muffins from their tins.

By about 5:58 PM, I finally made my way back outside to the deck.

The squeegee team was once again called into service for some relatively light but nevertheless necessary duty. The temperature was 76°, with humidity also at 76%, accompanied by a light southwest wind of about four miles per hour.

The sky wasn't particularly attractive. It was mostly a featureless gray with very little definition, and additional rain was forecast to arrive within approximately 45 minutes.

Consequently, I didn't expect my stay outdoors to last very long.

Still, the air itself was surprisingly pleasant and somewhat refreshing. It wasn't particularly hot, certainly wasn't cold, and despite the relatively high humidity it remained quite tolerable. After spending much of the afternoon asleep indoors, even a brief opportunity to sit outside was welcome.

The evening eventually moved indoors and became considerably quieter.

At around 8:00 PM, my daughter called and we talked for approximately half an hour. During the call I also had an opportunity to speak with my grandson about a website I recently discovered featuring blues guitar riffs. Since both of us have an interest in playing guitar, it gave us something enjoyable to talk about and perhaps something else we can explore together.

I also returned my attention to the tomatoes harvested from the garden. Several tomatoes from yesterday's harvest were ripening rather quickly, so rather than allowing them to go too far, I blanched them, removed the skins, crushed them and added them to the fresh tomato sauce I had prepared yesterday. I also added some additional garlic and basil.

What began yesterday as a simple mixture of fresh tomatoes, garlic, basil and olive oil has therefore had another day to develop, along with another infusion of freshly harvested ingredients. I'm certainly looking forward to seeing what happens when it eventually finds its way onto some homemade pasta.

Later in the evening, somewhere around 9:15 or 9:30, my friend Bob from Greensburg called with an unexpected invitation. He asked whether I would like to ride along with him tomorrow morning to Fox Chapel to take a look at a job he's currently working on.

I've heard quite a bit about this particular project, so I immediately told him I'd be happy to go and thanked him for thinking of me. He plans to stop by tomorrow morning somewhere between 8:00 and 8:15 to pick me up.

Considering my years spent around carpentry, cabinetmaking and construction, I'm genuinely looking forward to seeing the project firsthand rather than merely hearing about it.

One of my final kitchen maneuvers of the evening involved the two steaks I had placed in the refrigerator earlier this morning after rubbing them with kosher salt.

I removed the rack, flipped both steaks over, returned them to the rack and baking sheet, and placed everything back into the refrigerator.

I'm planning to prepare them sometime within the next day or two. From everything I've been reading about dry-brining steaks, allowing them additional time uncovered in the refrigerator should only improve the seasoning while drying the exterior in preparation for eventually developing a good crust.

Finally, at about 9:48 PM, I settled into my recliner and had an opportunity to think back over the day.

It certainly wasn't the most exciting Tuesday I've ever experienced. The weather was gray and unsettled, there was another lengthy afternoon nap, and opportunities for spending time outdoors were relatively limited.

But there were also freshly baked muffins, tomatoes from my own garden becoming tomorrow's sauce, a pleasant conversation with my daughter and grandson, a phone call from a good friend, and an unexpected invitation to go see something tomorrow morning that I'm genuinely interested in.

Sometimes that's more than enough to make an otherwise gray day feel pretty worthwhile.

And perhaps most importantly, despite repeated deployments throughout this unusually wet stretch of weather, there have been no formal grievances filed by the squeegee team.

At least none that have reached management.

Yet.

August 12, 2026

The day began at 6:36 AM with another very gray Western Pennsylvania morning. The temperature was 68°, humidity was 94%, and a light 3–4 mph breeze was coming from the southwest. The sky was densely overcast in every direction, yet somewhat surprisingly the deck was relatively dry, meaning the squeegee team received an unexpected morning off. The forecast suggested mostly cloudy conditions throughout the day, with only a brief possibility of sunshine during the afternoon and additional rain expected by evening.

Despite the dreary appearance overhead, the early morning was extremely peaceful. Sitting alone on the deck with coffee provided one of those quiet opportunities to simply observe the surroundings and collect thoughts before the rest of the day began.

By about 7:10 AM, the increasing breeze and high humidity had created one of those odd temperature combinations that felt somewhat like entering cool water, uncomfortable for the first moment or two but increasingly refreshing once accustomed to it. There was some debate about whether a light jacket was warranted, although no final ruling was immediately issued.

The first wildlife visitor of the morning was a rabbit sitting comfortably in the grass, appearing relaxed and unconcerned about either human observers or possible danger nearby.

The rabbit effectively became the first member of the morning wildlife shift while the squeegee crew remained officially unemployed.

Bob from Greensburg was expected to arrive within the hour for a morning excursion, so there was just enough time to head indoors for another cup of coffee and then return to the deck while waiting for him.

Bob arrived and took me to a renovation project in Fox Chapel that proved considerably more impressive than expected. Although the property was already quite beautiful before the renovation began, the owners have taken the project to an extraordinary level. Having been around a considerable number of construction and renovation projects over the years, I found the extent of the work remarkable. Many of the architectural and construction details were breathtaking and unlike anything I had encountered previously. Because the owners are very private, photographs were not permitted, but the experience itself was memorable enough without them.

After spending a couple of hours at the job site, Bob took me to Oakmont Bakery, an establishment with an excellent reputation throughout the Pittsburgh area.

Even though the bakery seemed crowded when we arrived, Bob assured me that what I was witnessing did not remotely qualify as one of their truly busy days.

While there, I purchased an almond dolce dessert made without gluten for my son-in-law.

Because of his celiac disease, his food choices have become much more restricted, and the dessert looked particularly tempting.

I returned home at approximately 11:30 AM. Before Bob left, I packaged several homemade muffins for him and his wife along with some of the fresh tomato, basil, garlic and olive-oil sauce prepared from the garden and several vine-ripened tomatoes.

Shortly afterward, while sitting on the deck, several wild turkeys appeared on the hillside behind the house near the garden. Having watched their routine many times before, I anticipated that they would gradually work their way toward the house and eventually cross the road into the neighbor’s yard.

Sure enough, they followed their usual route, allowing me to capture several photographs as they moved along.

By early afternoon the weather remained heavily overcast, and although the temperature was rising, there was still considerable moisture in the air. Sitting outside was becoming somewhat uncomfortable, so the deck was no longer quite as appealing as it had been earlier in the morning.

Another small culinary success worth noting was yesterday’s batch of coffee-cake muffins. Rather than making all of them with blueberries, half were prepared with a cinnamon, brown sugar and nutmeg mixture swirled through the center. They turned out exceptionally well, moist, flavorful and satisfying, and the idea of adding coarsely chopped walnuts to a future batch seems like a natural next experiment.

The muffin development department may finally be moving beyond research and into regular production.

Dinner this evening consisted of homemade pasta served with the fresh tomato, basil, garlic and olive-oil sauce prepared yesterday. It was a simple meal using ingredients from the garden and proved to be an especially fitting dinner for a quiet summer evening.

At 6:54 PM, I returned to the deck after dinner. The temperature was 76°, humidity had dropped to approximately 75%, and a 6 mph breeze was coming from the southwest. Although the sky remained gloomy and gray, the air itself was surprisingly comfortable, and the peace and quiet made sitting outdoors worthwhile.

Earlier in the afternoon, while browsing YouTube, I came across a touching story about a Black musician named Miles Porter. According to the video, he grew up around church music, showed exceptional musical talent at an early age, received a scholarship that was later lost because of funding cuts, struggled financially through adulthood, married and became a father, then lost his wife to cancer and eventually supported himself partly by performing music on the streets of Nashville.

The story was emotionally powerful, although later investigation raised questions about whether it was completely factual. Different versions circulating online contain conflicting details, and there appears to be little independent verification of the story. It may have been fictional or heavily dramatized inspirational content. Even so, the themes of talent, loss, perseverance, family and continuing forward despite hardship made it memorable.

Around 7:00 PM, the rain returned, ending any realistic possibility of remaining outdoors for long. By 7:41 PM, after spending approximately 20 minutes on the phone with my daughter, the rain was still coming down and the deck was clearly finished for the evening.

The plan for the remainder of the night is therefore a familiar one: make my way downstairs to the family-room office, enter a few notes and reflections into the blog, and then begin winding down for the day.

Overall, it was a surprisingly eventful Wednesday, beginning with a peaceful gray morning on the deck, followed by an extraordinary renovation tour, a visit to Oakmont Bakery, some food sharing with Bob, another successful turkey stakeout, a satisfying homemade pasta dinner, an interesting and thought-provoking story about music and perseverance, a conversation with my daughter, and finally another evening brought indoors by the seemingly endless Western Pennsylvania rain.

Apparently the old haymaker never managed to punch the time clock today, while the rain department once again authorized overtime. 

August 13, 2026

From the Squeegee Team to the Sewing-Machine Debacle

The day began at 6:07 AM under conditions that have become almost painfully familiar lately, 66°, humidity at 92%, a light southwest breeze, and a deck thoroughly soaked from the previous night’s rain. Pools of water made it immediately apparent that the squeegee team would once again be reporting for duty before the morning watch could officially begin. The forecast offered little encouragement, with clouds expected for most of the day and perhaps only a brief appearance by the sun around midday.

By around 7 AM I had made my way onto the deck with the squeegee team and did what I could to move along the drying process. Afterwards, I retreated indoors, settled into the recliner, turned on the news and intended to watch for only a few minutes. As frequently happens, a few minutes somehow turned into more than an hour and a half.

When I returned outdoors around 8:49 AM, however, things had improved considerably.

Much to my delight, the old haymaker had finally made a grand entrance, and the warmth of the sun felt particularly good. The temperature had climbed to 69°, with humidity still high at 89%, but a comfortable southwest breeze around 6 mph combined with the sunshine to make it obvious that whatever moisture remained on the deck would not be there for long.

At 9:07 AM the first squirrel alert of the day arrived. One of the little fellows came extremely close to becoming part of the pavement before abruptly stopping, reconsidering his life choices, and apparently deciding that perhaps another route would be preferable.

Another successful morning meeting of the neighborhood Wildlife Risk Management Committee.

Later in the morning, my brother-in-law Paul stopped by around 9 AM for coffee and one of the coffee cake muffins. A few days earlier he had invited me to travel with him to the Johnstown area this coming Saturday. The current plan is to leave around 2 PM, attend Mass being celebrated by our longtime family friend Father John, and then join him for dinner afterward.

Although I have never considered myself particularly religious, I have always been very comfortable around Father John. He also presided over Fran’s funeral service, something for which I will always remain deeply appreciative.

During the day, my neighbor Bob once again came over and cut my grass. When I heard the lawnmower running, I went outside and asked him to stop in before leaving because I had accumulated a few things for him. He went home with a generous portion of the pasta with fresh tomatoes, garlic, basil and olive oil, some leftover chicken cordon bleu, broccoli-cheese rice, a couple of muffins, and a container filled with grape tomatoes after mentioning that he would enjoy having some.

By early evening I had returned home after having some lab work done and making a brief stop at the market. After putting away the groceries, I prepared some leftovers for dinner and ate outside on the deck. At 6:34 PM it was still a very comfortable 79°, with humidity at 74% and a light northwest breeze around 4 mph.

After dinner and cleanup, I called Fran’s friend Nancy regarding her request that I stop over and offer some advice about having her hardwood floors refinished. Unfortunately, what began as a simple favor has become increasingly frustrating. Over roughly the past week she has suggested four different times when she would be available, and each attempt has ended with her either not being home, forgetting about the arrangement, or being unavailable by phone.

At this juncture I'm almost regretting offering to help. Apparently this request must not have been high on her "I need to get this done list." Unfortunately it's now dropped to the bottom of mne and may soon be eliminated completely.

Around 7:18 PM I remembered that the small handheld sewing machine I had ordered had arrived. The plan was to see whether I could finally repair the damaged deck-table umbrella, but before beginning that particular adventure I took a walk through the garden.

The trip turned out to be considerably more encouraging than the sewing project that followed.

There are quite a few tomatoes ready to be picked, along with plenty more still ripening on vines that are looking increasingly tired after a long and productive summer.

The peppers continue to look remarkably healthy and productive.

The lettuce bed remains lush,

the zucchini plants are still producing despite some aging foliage,

and the green bean plants are absolutely loaded.

Several beets also look large enough to harvest,

although I decided to leave them in the ground a little longer and see whether they continue putting on size.

Then came the much-anticipated test of the handheld sewing machine.

By 8:04 PM, with the remaining daylight disappearing rapidly, the verdict was officially in.

The little sewing machine proved to be another remarkably efficient means of restoring a substantial portion of my inappropriate vocabulary. 

Consequently, tomorrow’s agenda will apparently include purchasing that highly sophisticated piece of technology known as a needle and thread, after which the umbrella repair will be completed the old-fashioned way, by hand.

As darkness settles in, another day on the deck is coming to an end. It began with standing water, clouds and the squeegee team; eventually brought sunshine, wildlife, family, errands, frustration, generosity, a productive garden and one spectacularly unsuccessful experiment in modern sewing technology.

All things considered, not a bad Thursday.

And somewhere tonight, that handheld sewing machine is probably sitting quietly in its box, fully aware that it has been relieved of duty pending union arbitration.

August 14, 2026

The day covered a surprising amount of ground, beginning with the usual watch over the backyard and eventually ending with an unplanned but thoroughly enjoyable evening of live music in Greensburg.

Earlier in the day, the backyard provided its usual entertainment. Three young deer made an appearance during the morning,

and the squirrel population seemed determined to establish permanent residency. At one point there were as many as six of them;

moving around the yard, providing yet another episode of what has become the ongoing wildlife program just beyond the deck.

The weather was less cooperative. Rain moved through during the afternoon and once again left the deck wet enough that the squeegee team had to be called into service before outdoor activity could resume. Fortunately, the rain eventually stopped and the sky began showing signs of clearing.

The kitchen remained busy throughout much of the afternoon. Four chicken quarters were broken down, with the thighs deboned and both thighs and legs portioned into freezer bags for future meals.

The bones and trimmings were combined with additional chicken scraps that had been saved from an earlier breakdown and put into a large pot to make homemade chicken stock. There was no particular plan for the stock yet, but once strained and refrigerated it would be available for any number of future meals.

Another batch of muffins also went into the oven. They came out looking quite good, although they did not rise quite as dramatically as the previous several batches.

One possible explanation was that the muffin cups had been filled more heavily than usual, causing the batter to spread outward and form broader mushroom-shaped tops rather than rising vertically. The generous streusel topping may also have contributed by adding some additional weight to the tops.

Dinner involved another culinary experiment. A steak that had been dry-brined in the refrigerator for a couple of days was cooked on the grill using a version of the reverse-sear method. The steak was initially placed on the side of the grill without direct flame while the opposite burners maintained a grill temperature of roughly 450 degrees.

The goal had been to slowly bring the steak to approximately 105 degrees internally before moving it over direct heat for the final sear and finishing somewhere around medium rare.

The problem quickly became apparent: the steak was simply too thin.

At only about three-quarters of an inch thick, it reached medium-rare territory during the indirect portion of the cook, leaving almost no room for the final sear. The dry brining itself worked extremely well, however. The meat was tender and seasoned throughout, confirming that the method is worth using again.

The remaining steak will probably receive a considerably shorter indirect cook, if any, before being placed directly over high heat.

That experiment also revived the idea of purchasing larger primal cuts of beef and cutting steaks at home. Doing so would make it possible to produce steaks an inch and a half thick or more, which would be much better suited to reverse searing. The trimmings could be saved for grinding, while the usable fat could be rendered into beef tallow for cooking or spooning over finished steaks.

Late in the afternoon, the day took an unexpected turn when Bob from Greensburg called and invited me to join him and his wife for an outdoor concert at St. Clair Park.

At the time he called, rain was still falling here, and I told him there was no chance I would be sitting outside in the rain for a concert. I agreed to wait until around 6:00 before making a decision.

Fortunately, the rain stopped, the skies improved, and I called Bob to tell him I would be joining them.

The concert was held at the Robertshaw Amphitheater in St. Clair Park in Greensburg. I was genuinely surprised by the size of the crowd. Because it is an open outdoor venue, however, it never felt particularly confined. We brought lawn chairs and sat on the hillside above the permanent seating, and from there we had a perfectly good view of the stage.

The setting itself made for a very pleasant evening. The amphitheater sits against the backdrop of downtown Greensburg, and the colorful stage mural gave the entire scene a relaxed, almost old-fashioned summer-concert atmosphere.

The musicians were excellent. The group featured guitar, drums and a large Hammond-style organ, with several vocalists joining them during the performance. Watching the guitarist work particularly caught my attention, especially given my renewed interest in playing guitar. The music, the crowd and the simple pleasure of sitting outdoors with friends made the last-minute decision to attend well worthwhile.

I returned home at around 9:30 PM, considerably more tired than I had been when I left.

Unfortunately, the household night shift was still waiting.

There was a sink full of dishes to dry and put away, the chicken stock still needed to be strained so the bones and trimmings could be removed, the broth had to be transferred into containers and refrigerated, and tomorrow morning's coffee still needed to be prepared.

And somewhere beyond all of that remained the family-room computer and the desire to make a few blog entries before finally calling it a night.

Considering the day began with wildlife, rain and another appearance by the squeegee team, passed through muffins, chicken butchering, homemade stock and a steak experiment, and somehow finished with an outdoor concert in Greensburg, it turned into a much fuller Friday than I ever expected.

Now, however, I believe management and labor can finally agree on one thing:

The night shift has worked long enough.

August 15, 2026

Fog, Food, and Father John

The day began at 6:18 AM under a remarkably dense blanket of fog.

Visibility was down to roughly 100 feet, the temperature sat at 66°, humidity was at 100%, and a barely noticeable northeast breeze moved at around 2 mph. Everything outdoors was saturated, the deck furniture, siding, railings, and practically every exposed surface were dripping with moisture. With no sense in putting the squeegee team to work only to have the dampness return almost immediately, the Morning Watch was officially delayed.

Rather than waste the early hours, I turned my attention to the kitchen and continued work on the Italian wedding soup I had started yesterday.

I prepared the meatball mixture using ground beef, pork, veal, some of the chicken pulled from the homemade broth, gluten-free Italian breadcrumbs, garlic, onion, Italian seasoning, butter, and about 2/3 cup of Parmesan cheese.

From that mixture I rolled roughly 6½ dozen mini meatballs, baked them at 375° for about 15 minutes,

and then added them to a large pot containing my homemade chicken broth along with additional store-bought chicken bone broth.

With the deck still much too wet to be worthwhile, I moved on to putting together a care package for our longtime friend Father John, whom I would be visiting later in the day with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. What began as a few items quickly became quite a collection. Along with some of the wedding soup, I packed six muffins, three blueberry and three coffee cake, the latter containing a cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg, and walnut swirl. I also included chicken cordon bleu from the freezer, a loaf of bread, some of the homemade pasta with fresh tomatoes, garlic, basil, and olive oil, roasted peppers, corn chips for dipping, and a freshly prepared fruit salad.

Later in the afternoon, my brother-in-law, sister-in-law, and I made the drive to Seward, Pennsylvania, where we attended Father John’s 4:00 PM Mass.

Afterward, the four of us went to a lovely Italian restaurant in Johnstown for dinner. It was an enjoyable meal and, more importantly, a very pleasant opportunity to spend some relaxed time together.

When we eventually dropped Father John back at his home, he was extremely appreciative of all the food I had brought along. He was equally touched by the framed copy of “An Angel in Me,” 

the poem I had prepared in Fran’s memory. That made the effort of getting everything together earlier in the day feel especially worthwhile.

By the time I returned home to North Huntingdon at around 8:20 PM, I was pretty well drained. What began as a foggy morning that prevented me from even getting onto the deck turned into a surprisingly productive and meaningful day, cooking, preparing food to share, traveling to see an old friend, attending Mass, enjoying dinner together, and giving Father John something personal that carried Fran’s memory with it.

Now, before finally surrendering to the recliner, there is just one last item on today’s agenda: a trip downstairs to the family room/office to get a few of these thoughts into the blog.

And somewhere, I suspect, the squeegee team is quietly congratulating itself on having successfully avoided an entire Saturday shift.

The only thing that could have made this day better would have been if Fran were here to enjoy it with us. There is no doubt in my mind she would have thoroughly enjoyed this days adventure.

August 16, 2026

From a Saturated Morning to a Family Dinner

The day began on a rather discouraging weather note. At around 8:09 this morning it was 72° with humidity at a whopping 93% and a fairly robust southwest wind of about 8 mph. Everything outdoors, the deck, the furniture and seemingly the air itself, felt saturated with moisture. Any hope of immediately beginning the usual morning watch was pretty much out of the question, and it appeared that the squeegee team would once again be called into active duty.

By late morning the situation had improved enough to get something accomplished. After a brief but thorough workout by the squeegee team, the deck was finally dry enough for occupancy.

Earlier, I had made my way down to the garden and gathered all of the ripe tomatoes that were bruised or otherwise unlikely to keep very long. They certainly weren't going to waste.

I brought them into the kitchen, blanched and peeled them, and then crushed them in preparation for another batch of the fresh tomato, basil, garlic and olive-oil pasta sauce that has become a favorite among just about everyone in the family, and quite a few friends as well.

The basil for today's batch came from the more established plants in the raised garden beds, allowing the newer potted basil on the porch a little more time to mature before I begin harvesting heavily from it.

The basil was finely chopped and worked with the garlic

before being incorporated into the crushed tomatoes along with olive oil, Italian seasoning and salt.

Nothing terribly complicated about the process, but once again the final result proved that simple ingredients handled properly can produce something pretty close to perfection.

By 2:41 the sauce was finished and I made my way back outside for a little deck time before leaving for my daughter's house. The temperature had climbed to 81°, although it felt considerably warmer. Humidity had dropped somewhat to 79%, and the saving grace was a southwest breeze of around 9 mph.

My usual seat had become much too hot, and I was just about ready to surrender and go indoors when I noticed that the glider against the back of the house had already fallen into shade. A simple change of seating made things considerably more comfortable and allowed me to remain outside a while longer. Quite a change from the gloomy, saturated conditions earlier in the day, the afternoon even managed to produce some beautiful blue sky.

Before leaving for my daughter's for our 3:30 dinner, I packed up quite a little care package: two containers of yesterday's Italian wedding soup, one with pasta and one without, along with another container of fresh fruit and berries.

I had originally expected dinner to consist primarily of pulled-pork sandwiches, but apparently my son-in-law was preparing for a considerably larger invasion. Along with the pulled pork, there were roughly half a dozen baked potatoes, fresh coleslaw, baked beans and three-bean salad. There was easily enough food to feed a dozen people.

And, as often seems to happen, the exchange of food worked both ways. Before I left, my daughter and son-in-law packaged up some of the leftovers and sent them home with me.

During dinner a rather substantial downpour moved through the area. Their electricity briefly went out for several seconds, immediately producing understandable groans from both of them given their history of power failures. It came back on momentarily, but about fifteen minutes later it went out again, and this time remained off when I left at around 5:30.

Once again I told them that they were more than welcome to come to our house if the outage continued, even if it were simply to enjoy electricity, air conditioning, television and the other basic creature comforts we normally take for granted.

Their recurring power problem continues to puzzle and aggravate me. Almost every significant storm seems capable of knocking them offline, sometimes for extraordinarily long periods. If it were happening at our house with that frequency, the power company would certainly become accustomed to hearing from me.

I arrived home around 5:30, cleaned up a few dishes and took care of one of the evening necessities by preparing tomorrow morning's coffee. By 6:19 I was settled into the recliner in front of the television, although with the sound muted so that I could collect and record the day's mental notes without distraction.

So what began as another soggy, humid morning eventually became a surprisingly productive Sunday: the squeegee team reclaimed the deck, another garden harvest was rescued and transformed into fresh pasta sauce, the afternoon finally provided a little sunshine and outdoor time, and the day included an early dinner and plenty of food shared back and forth with family.

Now, with dinner behind me and tomorrow morning's coffee already waiting for its assignment, the only remaining order of business is a trip downstairs to the family room/office and a few additions to today's blog before calling this Sunday complete.

August 17, 2026

Day in Review

The day began at about 7:07 AM with yet another gloomy Western Pennsylvania morning. Opening the patio door revealed exactly what I had hoped not to see:

an overcast sky, wet surroundings, a temperature of 73°, humidity at 93%, and a 6 mph breeze generally out of the west. Adding insult to injury, the long-range forecast was showing some possibility of precipitation every day for the next seven days.

But the dreary weather was almost secondary to the way the morning had actually begun.

I had awakened around 5:30 AM with an unusually powerful feeling of loneliness. There was no obvious reason for it and no specific thought or memory I could identify as having triggered it. I simply found myself lying there overcome with emotion and eventually wept myself back to sleep until around 6:30. I kept wondering whether there was a trigger buried somewhere underneath it all, although perhaps grief does not always provide one that can be neatly identified.

There was something particularly stark about waking in that half-conscious early-morning quiet when none of the usual distractions of the day, cooking, chores, the garden, conversations or activity, had yet begun. In those moments there was simply the awareness of Fran's absence. Even ordinary family time the previous day may have contributed to the contrast of returning home and then waking alone the following morning.

Eventually I fell asleep again, after taking a seat in my recliner to watch the mornng news, apparently I wasn't finished sleeping.

By 3:05 in the afternoon I had awakened from an unplanned three-hour nap and finally made my way onto the deck. Mother Nature had apparently taken care of the work ordinarily assigned to the squeegee team: everything had dried, and some breaks were beginning to appear in the clouds.

The temperature had climbed to 79°, humidity had dropped to 77%, and there was an 8 mph northwest breeze. I had considered going to the market before falling asleep but decided against it because the forecast made me think I would probably emerge from the store into a downpour. Instead, I decided to enjoy whatever sunshine and blue sky the afternoon was willing to provide.

While sitting on the deck, today's yellowjacket situation brought back a rather spectacular memory from many years ago.

My son was somewhere around his late high-school or early college years when my neighbor Bob, while walking along the street one evening, mentioned that I appeared to have bees or hornets living around the base of the enormous locust tree that once stood at the corner of the property. When I walked up toward the street to speak with him, still perhaps 30 or 40 feet from the tree, both of us suddenly began getting stung and found ourselves surrounded by flying insects.

Later, as darkness approached, I discovered a very large nest, roughly basketball-sized, hanging within the thick vegetation around the tree.

What followed can only be described, in retrospect, as a moment of questionable judgment.

I filled a 2½-gallon bucket with gasoline and enlisted my son as my reluctant accomplice. His observation that the whole plan could “go wrong in so many ways” was entirely justified. The plan involved him running past and throwing the gasoline toward the nest while I followed behind carrying a tightly rolled newspaper partially soaked in kerosene and set on fire.

The resulting ignition was something approaching a small explosion.

The hornet nest was indeed eliminated, but so was much of the vegetation around the base of the tree, along with a respectable amount of bark. The result bore more than a passing resemblance to a biblical burning bush. Thankfully, neither of us was injured, although in hindsight it is clearly one of those successful operations that should remain permanently confined to history rather than ever being repeated.

Fortunately for my son, any modern reenactment is impossible anyway: he's now safely in North Carolina.

Today's problem was considerably less theatrical but potentially just as troublesome.

The still photographs

and, later, a roughly two-minute video

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/bf1d29_c221b554431248c99d2f5d632a6cc58e/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

confirmed repeated yellowjacket traffic at a hole in the ground near the garden. Individual insects could be seen approaching, hovering, landing and disappearing into or immediately beside the opening, while others appeared to emerge. The activity occurred repeatedly during different portions of the video rather than being one stray insect wandering through, making the conclusion fairly clear: there is an active underground yellowjacket nest there. 

One of the greatest concerns is the location itself. Grass, clover and debris make the entrance surprisingly difficult to see, meaning someone with a mower or string trimmer could very easily get right on top of it before realizing what was there. Considering Bob regularly cuts the grass, that makes dealing with the nest more than simply a matter of annoyance.

By 7:59 PM, the sun had essentially disappeared below the horizon, and the evening brought out some of the more agreeable residents of the property. Two rabbits were contentedly grazing in the grass just below the garden, joined by one considerably less welcome furry resident, the groundhog.

But I also had unfinished business.

Armed with three partially filled cans of wasp and hornet spray, I cautiously made my way toward the yellowjacket entrance. In the process I received a rather unpleasant surprise: there was another ground opening only inches from where my foot had landed.

Thankfully, because it was so late in the evening, activity around both openings was minimal. I emptied what remained of the three cans into and around the two entrances and then retreated, intending to watch the area tomorrow to determine whether the treatment had any effect.

Discovering that second hole introduced another concern. If there were two entrances that close together, one of which I hadn't noticed until I was nearly standing on it, there is no certainty yet that those are the only two. They may connect with the same underground nest, but tomorrow's investigation will be performed from a considerably safer distance. No wandering around through the grass searching for holes.

And that could have been the ending to the day.

Instead, the sky decided otherwise.

As I began gathering the cushions from the deck chairs and preparing to call it an evening, I looked toward the south and southwest and found myself watching a remarkable transformation taking place overhead.

The sky that had greeted the morning as an oppressive sheet of gray had become almost unrecognizable. Rich blue filled the upper sky while sweeping, feather like clouds stretched across it. Along the distant horizon, clouds caught the remaining sunlight and began glowing in shades of peach, pink, gold and brilliant orange. A delicate crescent moon appeared against the blue.

I tried to go inside.

I didn't make it.

I returned to my chair because the show continued getting better.

Then I tried again.

And once again I ended up sitting back down.

As darkness settled over the lawn and trees, the illuminated clouds became even more spectacular. The brilliant oranges along the horizon stood against the increasingly cool blue overhead, with the darkened landscape beneath them providing an almost perfect silhouette. One of the later views combined the glowing western clouds, the enormous sweep of sky and that tiny crescent moon in a scene that looked almost deliberately composed.

Finally, on my third attempt, I decided enough really was enough.

Third time's the charm. Indoors I went.

And perhaps that contrast is what I'll remember most about August 17.

The day began before sunrise with loneliness, tears and an oppressive gray sky. It moved through an unexpected three-hour afternoon nap, the rediscovery of an almost unbelievable hornet adventure from decades ago, confirmation of an active yellow jacket nest in the yard, the discovery of a second entrance almost beneath my feet, rabbits grazing peacefully nearby, and the ever-present groundhog making his rounds.

And somehow it ended with me repeatedly refusing to leave my chair because the sky was simply too beautiful to walk away from.

A day that began beneath a blanket of gray ended beneath clouds glowing orange and gold against a deepening blue sky.

Quite a difference between 5:30 in the morning and 8 o'clock at night.

Perhaps that's as good a reminder as any that sometimes it's worth seeing a difficult day all the way through.

August 18, 2026

Day in Review

The day began with one of those mornings that gradually improved the longer it unfolded. Early on, low clouds lingered across the sky, but by around 8:20 AM the sun and clouds seemed to reach an agreement and share the morning.

The deck returned to the peaceful setting I had hoped for, and the morning watch once again became exactly that, quiet, calm, and worth lingering over.

The pair of cardinals that have spent so much of the summer around the large pine tree behind the deck made another appearance. The male moved from the middle of the tree to the very topmost branches, where he perched for quite some time surveying the area while the female eventually flew off.

At about 8:26 AM, having apparently seen whatever he needed to see, he finally took flight himself.

Considering that the pair has remained around the pine tree throughout the summer, I still find myself wondering about their nesting season and whether any young cardinals may have already moved on without my ever seeing them.

The wildlife activity continued with turkeys moving through the field, adding yet another bit of entertainment to the morning.

Just as I was preparing to head indoors for breakfast, the morning sunlight caught the flowers in the large planter on the deck. The effect was too striking to ignore.

Red, yellow, and purple blossoms seemed almost illuminated from within as the sunlight passed across and through the petals. I stopped long enough to take several photographs before finally returning indoors.

Since I had eaten very little for dinner the previous evening, I decided breakfast deserved to be somewhat more substantial than usual. The remaining dry-brined Delmonico steak went into an extremely hot cast-iron skillet for a quick sear, hot enough, unfortunately, to send the hallway smoke detector into another one of its highly irritating performances.

By somewhere around 9:45 AM, however, the inconvenience had been forgotten as I sat down to a breakfast of steak and eggs.

It was decidedly more robust than my usual breakfast but also exceptionally satisfying.

Later in the morning and into the afternoon, I returned to preparations for tomorrow evening’s dinner with my daughter and son-in-law. Yesterday I had decided on small shortbread tart cups filled with homemade lemon curd and topped with fresh fruit and berries.

The shortbread experiment turned out to be a bit more involved than expected. I first rolled the dough between sheets of wax paper, cut individual circles, and carefully fitted each one into the muffin tins, shaping the dough across the bottoms and up the sides.

In retrospect, far more time and effort went into that process than was necessary.

When the cups came out of the oven, nearly all of the carefully formed sides had collapsed inward, leaving what amounted to small shortbread hockey pucks in the bottoms of the muffin tins. My initial disappointment quickly turned into improvisation. While testing the still-warm dough with a toothpick, I realized it remained soft enough to reshape. I grabbed the first appropriately sized object I could find,

an approximately eight-ounce drinking glass, and pressed it gently into the center of each warm shortbread round.

That simple adjustment worked surprisingly well. The glass created exactly the depression needed to hold the lemon curd and fruit. If I make these again, I will almost certainly eliminate the unnecessary shaping beforehand. A much simpler method would be to divide the dough evenly into balls, place them into the muffin tins, allow them to bake and flatten naturally, and then form the center cavities immediately after they come from the oven.

While the shortbread cooled, there was little reason to remain indoors. By shortly after 3 PM the weather had become absolutely marvelous. The temperature was around 79°, humidity had fallen to about 52%, and a gentle northwest breeze of roughly 5 mph made the shaded side of the deck especially comfortable.

Before returning outside, I poured myself a tall glass of iced tea and discovered the pitcher I had prepared several days earlier was nearly empty. I made another batch, set the pitcher on the deck table, and allowed time to do its work,

the shortbread cooling indoors while the tea steeped outdoors.

The afternoon weather could hardly have been better. Brilliant blue skies, scattered white clouds, comfortable temperatures, relatively low humidity, and a light breeze transformed the backyard into exactly the kind of summer setting I wish western Pennsylvania would provide every day. After so many damp, gray, and overcast periods recently, today felt like something of a gift.

Later in the afternoon, another lingering household irritation resurfaced: the tiny flying insects that had previously been traced, or at least strongly suspected, to old cornmeal in the pantry. Their numbers have dropped considerably, but a few continue to appear every day. Having already searched the pantry thoroughly and found no obvious additional source, I decided to try a Zevo flying-insect trap. Hopefully it will take care of the remaining stragglers, and perhaps even provide a better look at exactly what these persistent little freeloaders are.

The afternoon also brought a phone call from my son, who managed to reach me in the middle of a nap around 2 PM. He let me know that he and his three sons will arrive on Friday, August 28, ahead of my sister-in-law Linda’s planned celebration of life. They will stay at the house through Sunday, August 30.

While he is here, we will finally take care of transferring the title of the car I recently purchased for him so that he can insure it in his own name. It will be good to get that piece of business finished and crossed off the list.

As evening approached, I had some leftovers for dinner

and then decided that tomorrow night’s dessert required a bit of quality-control testing.

One of the shortbread cups received a generous portion of homemade lemon curd,

followed by an assortment of fresh fruit and berries, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, grapes,

and finally a rather healthy crown of whipped cream.

The experiment was a success.

The shortbread had enough structure to hold the filling without crumbling, the lemon curd provided exactly the bright flavor I had hoped for, and the fresh fruit worked beautifully with both. Despite the earlier frustration when the carefully shaped shells collapsed during baking, the finished tart turned out exceptionally well and should make a very welcome addition to tomorrow evening’s dinner.

By 7:14 PM I was once again seated at the table on the deck, looking out over a backyard bathed in late evening sunlight.

The temperature remained comfortable, the sky was still beautiful, and the long shadows across the lawn gave the entire landscape a warm summer glow.

After a morning of cardinals, turkeys, flowers and steak and eggs; an afternoon of shortbread experiments, iced tea and near-perfect weather; and an evening capped by successful dessert testing and news of an upcoming family visit, the day ended on a distinctly positive note.

For the moment, life was indeed very good.

At around 7:25 PM, I had a half-hour conversation with my daughter. During the call, I asked her to check with her husband to see what the earliest time he could arrive for dinner tomorrow might be. I have invited Neal to join us, but because he has to officiate cross-country practice tomorrow evening, he will need to leave by 5:30 PM at the latest. My daughter said she would text me later once she knew what time her husband could get here, which should allow me to plan the dinner accordingly.

During the conversation, my daughter momentarily lost her train of thought. I knew exactly where she had been headed and finished the thought for her, which caused her to react with amazement that I had known what she was going to say.

I simply told her that it was no problem because I have “STP.”

That brought back one of those old family jokes that still manages to make us laugh. My mother-in-law used to say that she had “STP” rather than ESP, and the expression somehow became part of the family vocabulary. Years later, all it takes is one well-timed reference to STP to bring the memory, and the laughter, right back.

The whole circumstance would have certainly brought a smile toFran as well...

If only she were still here to enjoy and laugh at these precious moments.