After making a coronavirus-related shopping note on my calendar for March 31, I looked down again at what I had entered a month earlier. “Hope arrives,” March 30. “Matt and Will arrive,” April 1. This was going to be a fun time, with a sister, brother-in-law and nephew coming from Montana for a spring break. …
Happy birthday, Cowboy. March means you are three. The start of Daylight Savings Time seems like a good day to call yours. You are easy to associate with a lost hour of sleep. But I’m glad you are on my case. Your were a sick pup when you came. I’d say you’re plenty healthy now. …
I woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll this morning or at least I made the mistake of reading Twitter before climbing out to look at blue sky, rustle Cowboy’s breakfast and make myself a pot of coffee. Someone had complained about Serena Williams’s conduct at the U.S. Open in her title match …
Good evening. It was shaping up to be a gloomy, Turbo Tax kind of a day until I read the last paragraph of the New York Times obituary for the writer Ivan Doig. A Doig quote sparkled at me like a shiny stone on a worn path — lasting brilliance in a notice of death. …
dream ranch 