Tuesday, January 13, 2026, 27.9* F, 89% RH, 0715
Shadows of trees on closed blinds, no rhumba of branches. Sky pale gray from this window. From the deck earlier, eastern sky bright orange like wet paint, shiny, above that blue. Zayne stood at the fence looking toward the stream barking. Whatever he saw was gone or frozen mid-step to be unseen by my searching eyes.
Zsolt cautiously investigated the bathtub as I put drops in my eyes. The only space for Ruger, in the hall watching wanting to be petted more. Waiting for the computer scan to complete, my fingers found most of the right piano keys to Opus 53. Bruce used to tell me that no one really likes classical music although he didn’t complain when I practiced. In the evenings I wore a headset so only I could hear the repetition of learning.
I always wanted to play the piano. Not the flute that hurt my ears. My dad didn’t want to hear me practice. Perhaps the flute hurt his ears too. Maybe it was too much noise after he had been promoted to “expeditor” because he did such good work on the assembly line at General Motors Fisher Body, when people, not robots put cars together. A promotion he didn’t welcome. More money for his family. That’s when the heart attacks began. He went to agricultural college, wanted to be a farmer.
We are shaped by our choices.
Photo: LJ Austin
