Good morning. ☕☕☕
5 December 2025
I was looking forward to cooler weather. Well—it’s here, and it brought the wet with it. I suspect this will be one of those winters that turns part of my yard into a bog, a soggy muddy mess.
Here’s Charlie. It’s ten minutes to mealtime, and he’s making sure I don’t forget. We’ve been hunkered down inside for several days while I try to adjust to the damp chill. And yes, here I go again, talking about the weather. I keep telling myself: get out there, take a walk. At the end of the driveway it’s nothing but a muddy mess, but maybe we’ll go this morning after Charlie eats. Just Charlie and his trusty sidekick—me.
When was the last time you took a trip on a bus? For me, it’s been a while. About twenty years ago, when we first moved here, we rode a Greyhound bus to Houston to pick up a car we had shipped from Germany. The Greyhound stop in town has since closed.
Decades ago, though, I was a regular passenger. Duffle or seabag stowed beneath, and off down the highway. It was a thing then, and I suppose it still is for some folks.
My late mother-in-law used to tickle me with her approach. She treated it as an adventure, always calling it “riding the dog.” She wouldn’t fly, so we’d bring her in by Greyhound when she came to visit. My wife and her sisters would track her progress from stop to stop, like following a trail of breadcrumbs.
There are still Greyhound stations in the larger cities, but I rarely see one of their buses on the road anymore.
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.” — Bob Marley
“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent.” — Milan Kundera
“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” — St. Augustine
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