It was another marker day. Remember, I once noted that marker days are those days in which an event or something momentous is scheduled to occur. In this instance, Pete was to have carpal tunnel surgery.

Whenever we go to town together, Pete, if he has something important going on, will be ready to go before I am. I never get out of here without having to go back into the house for something that I think I need. This morning it was my one remaining hearing aid.

Beautiful day, the leaves on the trees are now making their seasonal appearance. The smell of spring is also in the air. And because it’s warm, it’s easy to get around.

We got to the hotel and Robert, Pete’s friend, was waiting for him. He was wiping down his side view mirrors with paper towels. Off they went, leaving me at the site of the former banquet room of the historic Eagle Hotel. I put books in Bill’s boxes and then headed over to

the Palmer Senior Center, where I joined my Palmer Senior Center reading group friends. We talked about the book The Chosen by Chaim Patock, which I had not read. I did say that I taught it when I taught at the University of Minnesota, Morris, in an introductory class. I added that such books shape and enlarge world views.

I spent some time on the first floor, with those in the dining area. My old friends Mario and Mary were there. Mary was much the same, but Mario looked worn out. His having a large bandage on his nose, because he’d had a cancerous growth removed, made him look even more haggard and worn.

I next distributed books and got to most of my stops. This made me think of paperboys and their having a route.
I was not at the hotel long because I had to go to physical therapy. I got in the pool early and did a few exercises on my own. I was well prepared when Holly, my physical therapist, appeared and improvised a rigorous workout for me.

I got back to the hotel just minutes before Pete and his driver, Pam, arrived on site. His right hand was bandaged -- Groundhog Day – he said his hand hurt and that he was told to hold it upright. Poor guy. I got him home and we sat on the porch for a while. He drank a beer and then resumed reading Genghis Khan.

I made dinner, what we call special fried rice. There was nothing special about it. It was just rice and vegetables and egg, fried in a pan far too small for the task at hand.

After dinner, Pete went upstairs and read for a while and then went to sleep. I worked some on Shelf Life. I’m putting in an hour a day on it. This is far too little time, but this is all the time that I have. And this, now, is all the time I have for this.

Next: 125. 5/7/25: Overcast