Good times
Even though the high temperatures are around the mid-70s, the 10-day forecast indicates that nighttime temperatures will drop into the 40s next week, which is another sign that Fall is on the way.
I didn't accomplish much today. I took a short walk, but I can tell my brain is still adapting to my new vision. The Internet suggests that it can take anywhere from three to six months for your brain to fully adjust to your new eyes. I'm sure it will take a lot longer than that for me, since my brain is not very adaptive. In fact, it's still pretty much stuck in the past, when I was living in pretty good times but didn't even know it.
I think that's the problem with good times: a lot of them tend to happen when you're young, and being young, you're too naive to realize it. In fact, I can recall many times when I thought things were bad, but due to my youth and limited knowledge, I didn't realize they were some of the best times of my life.
There have been many times like that, but one of those times, and I think most folks in a similar situation will agree, was my four years in the Air Force. Every G.I. is required to whine and complain about everything going on during their years in the military; it's expected. But pretty much everyone looking back on it usually realizes that it was one of the better times of their life. And they left the military as adults who could navigate life with a great deal more knowledge, skill, and stories to tell than the 18-year-old who showed up for basic training, which in my case was at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas.
Theboondork
I went for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday and took a few pictures. Almost everyone in the neighborhood has ample garage space, like these folks with a five-car garage. But many of these folks don't have five cars, but they do have a woodworking shop, a place to work on their Hot Rod, or plenty of space for any hobby. I know that because sometimes when I walk by, their garage doors are open, and they're outside working in the yard. Being the good neighbor that I am, I always walk over and say hello, and they always hand me five dollars for breakfast at McDonald's and send me on my way. And I don't blame them, after all, I wouldn't want to live in a neighborhood that would let ME live there!
I call it a snowball flower.