Tried on my good trousers for an anniversary dinner at the lodge and holy buckets, apparently retirement has not been hard on my appetite. I could button them standing up, but sitting on the bed was another proposition, with that tight band pressing across my middle and my knees making their own objections when I stood again. My wife said breathing was generally expected at dinner and handed me the roomier pair. Those felt fine, and I stayed in them while we listened to the radio, her cold feet against my leg. I like a house where we can be dressed for an occasion and still have half an hour with our shoes off.

I may have been giving the same chickadee credit for a whole family this morning. In my bird notebook I put six, but I watched one take a seed, disappear into the spruce and come right back along exactly the same branch, so how am I supposed to know whether that was number seven or number one again? At the lodge I could remember a guest from the way he asked for extra pillows, even after five years, but these little fellas aren't offering much conversation. My wife says write 'several' and eat my toast. Several is all right in a recipe, I told her, but it's a pretty poor bird count.

Our boy in Denver rang to say the fishing visit wasn't going to work this time, and I said sure, sure, jobs and kids, I understand. Well I don't entirely understand, because we had the dates and I had told the fellow with the boat, and I was sore about it after we hung up. My wife said he hadn't cancelled being our son. I KNOW that. I wanted him sitting beside me complaining about the bait like he used to, that's all, and I'd already been having a grand time thinking about it. I put the tackle back downstairs rather harder than it needed putting. Haven't called the boat fellow yet.