Doug Keller. Thirty-one years married, and a man who writes the week down so he keeps showing up.
I take the mug outside before the house starts. The Front Range does not perform. It sits there, tan and quiet, whether I come out or not.
She is still asleep. The rail is cold. Nothing to report except that I stood long enough to notice the light on the dry grass.
I took the picture so I would remember a Tuesday that did not ask me for anything yet. Not a view. Just the hour.
There is a stretch after the coffee and before anyone needs a ride or an answer. Some mornings she comes out. She does not announce it. The second mug is just there.
We do not talk much. That used to bother me, like I was supposed to fill it. Now I know the point is that she sat down. Thirty-one years and I am still learning that.
If you came here looking for advice, this is not that. It is two chairs and a backyard in Colorado. That is the whole note.
This is the part I am good at. A thing sticks. I get the gloves. I finish it before dinner. Nobody has to ask twice.
I built a life on being the person who shows up and closes the loop. Most days that still works. The days it does not are the ones I do not write about.
I am leaving this here so the next time a small thing goes, I remember I still know how to do that part.
I live in Fort Collins with my wife. When the prescriptions stopped matching how I felt, I started writing down what the appointments actually said. I am not a doctor, a coach, or a brand. I write short notes about the week so I stay the guy I said I would be.
If you found this from my Facebook page, hello. I post the same kind of thing there: the foothills, the two mugs, the dumb repair on the gate. No news desk. No clinic. Just a person trying to show up.