Not At All

Not At All

Saturday morning, warm and muggy. 76F and 95%. My seat is the blue lift-chair we gave mama for her 98th birthday, it has buttons, a remote, she never learned to use. But I can use it, “L” for “Lean Back” and “R” is for “Rise.” Or is “L” for “Lift” ... 

Good write-up in PCNH this morning about Coach Ray Graves, who died Friday at age 96, and a great picture with Steve Spurrier when he was quarterback for the Gators. We change, don’t we, the camera doesn’t lie. Coach Spurrier must have been 19 in that picture, or about 20. I have a picture of me at that age too, looking not at all like the bemused old fogey I saw taking his heart pills in the mirror a few minutes ago. I have hopes for UF football this year, and also for SCAR, not to mention J. Harbaugh at MGoBlue. Bo is back, they’re saying. 

From my resting place this Saturday morning, a balcony rail, and beyond that gray. Like a painting, medium gray sea, horizontal dark gray stripe of barrier island across the center, and light gray sky. 

As morning ages, darker gray moving ashore from southwest, threatening black and wet.

T