Some time ago, a friend gave me a book as a birthday present. It resides, every day, on my bed stand; little did my friend know that this book’s title was my mom’s iron-clad daily rule for me.

This book was written by a US Navy 4-Star Admiral, who headed up, among other things, the US Navy SEAL program. He wrote this book to offer words of encouragement and simple wisdom. If he only knew that my mom’s advice pre-dated his by decades.

Every day of my life, I make my bed; leaving it unmade is unthinkable. My mom accepted no excuse for an unmade bed. Illness, anxiety, a surgical procedure, or laziness didn’t matter to her; over time, I took her mandate as a part of life.

On page one, chapter one of his book, the author says: “Start Your Day with a Task Completed.” My mom never wrote a book, but she impressed me with the importance of starting each day with a feeling of accomplishment.

Thanks, Mom; the Admiral agrees with you.

Every so often, I watch the movie Casablanca. For a movie made in 1942 and filmed in Burbank, California, it’s incredible how popular it is. Even more impressive is the pairing of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. Whenever I watch it, I find a scene or two I might have missed earlier.

Ingrid Bergman is luminescent; Bogart is the bad guy gone good. No matter how often I watch them together, I can’t imagine another couple capable of making this movie. So yes, here’s looking at you, kid, for many more years.

Attending the Kentucky Derby in the company of 150,000+ of your best friends must be fun. Being at the rail when the sun comes up with the horses a few feet away from you is an unbelievable experience and, one that I’ll never forget.

Churchill Downs sets aside two days for a program called Dawn at the Derby. Each year, it allows spectators to enter before dawn to watch the morning workouts of derby horses.

It’s incredible to stand at the actual rail (something 99% of anyone will never do) and watch the jockeys blast past. The horses are far larger than you’d think, and they move. They thunder past the rail, close enough for everyone to feel their hooves hit the ground.

One of the best parts of the dawn workout is when the jockeys slow down and let the horses walk alongside the rail; they are close enough for a person to reach out and touch them. I’ll never be fortunate to see the derby, but each year I make a beeline before dawn to share in this beautiful experience.

Many of us my age fondly remember reciting the Pledge of Allegiance before school started. We knew the words well and felt proud to say them aloud. Today, this tradition is becoming a distant memory in schools. Yet, every day, news outlets highlight the importance of taking pride in our country. It’s a shame to think that we might not see this meaningful practice return—imagine flags waving in classrooms and children’s voices echoing through the halls. How could anyone not find this inspiring?

Often, I reflect on the things I have done throughout my lifetime that may have caused harm to someone, resulting in pain or discomfort. As I am closer to the end of my life than he beginning, thoughts like this are more common. I read something today that made me pause; it was a devotional that addressed forgiveness, titled as shown above. It is painful to think about the times I have disappointed or hurt someone. In my heart and prayers, I hope that somehow I have asked others to forgive me. The wonderful Rector of our church offers me absolution through confession; every time he does this, I am thankful. I do “humbly confess my sins”.

This was a Monday. At this exact date in time, I was probably walking the halls of Jefferson High, thinking of when the lunch bell would ring or what my girlfriend, Diana, had in mind after school. Frequently, someone would plan a party in their parents’ garage, so we would look forward to a make-out party disguised as a social gathering, where we would certainly hear these songs over and over. My personal favorite was (and is) “Rebel Rouser” man, that guy could play his Twangy Guitar. Ah, memories – I often hear that song on Spotify – Who knew?

Until recently, I’d never used Facebook Marketplace; it seemed like I lived in a cave, but it was new to me. I needed a printer stand, so I signed up for the marketplace site to see what was available.

Well, I found a terrific one that’s perfect for my space, and it was a genuine bargain. It appears that I visited Bloomingdale’s, and a decorator assisted me. Since then, I often browse the marketplace site, and seeing the items folks put up for sale amazes me.

It’s like looking at people’s closets, garages, and reminders of past wins and losses. A case in point is the increasing number of wedding and engagement rings, bridal attire (worn only once, please), and shoes that look pretty tired out. Yet, the shoes are always offered as “new in the box” despite clear evidence that they are ready for the trash.

It’s fascinating to see the range of goods (and services) offered on the site. For example, just today, I saw a “nearly new” RV that looked like a home on wheels offered at $142,000. A few clicks later, I saw a 2004 SUV for $1,000, and the seller posted this comment: “Actually, the photos make the car look better than it is.” I like that guy.

The site is addictive. It’s like watching QVC beaming from a garage sale. Please don’t think I’m critical of the site: I sold a car on Marketplace in 3 days to a family whose daughter is beginning college, and it was her first car. She was thrilled, and so was I.

As I continue aging, unwanted things appear daily. Sometimes it’s a different creak in an area that was working just fine the day before. Other times, it’s something like forgetting words, places, or events. It happens to me every day and is driving me crazy.

I can discuss anything with someone, from any topic to an activity or even what I’d like for dinner, and, like magic, my thoughts go away. It was as if the switch had gone off, and I had no control over it. It’s so bad that before I say anything, I announce to the person or group that I forget things, and I ask for their forgiveness.

Everyone is polite. I hate it. If I am in a meeting, I write down my comments beforehand and announce all my concerns. Wouldn’t you know that I am the communications chair for my church? Fortunately, in addition to writing things down, I have a spell-check app. So, I’ll update my posts on my blog; at least I am in control of that.

In an earlier post, I wrote about the suicide of a dear friend. As I was writing this, I started thinking about how many friends I have. Is it enough? Should I have more? Are my friends true friends? I am pretty sure my number of friends remains the same for decades. I hear people say, “We are friends on Facebook.” That implies to me they really aren’t actual friends in real life. I only use Facebook for work, and I have 2 friends, which seems plenty to me.

There are things about living in the South that are special and unique. Language, accents, heritage, history, and small country stores are a part of this patchwork of people and places. Stores like this were the supermarkets of the day, serving up bologna sandwiches, shoes, soda, smokes, and gossip.

Everywhere, towns have thrived, died, and returned; a small village in the South reflects generations of relatives, all doing their very best to make do with what they have. Religion, faith, and family form the backbone of the people and towns, although a love for barbecue, high school football, and farm equipment runs a close second.

The family that owns and operates this store has lived in the area for generations. Both the mother and father of the family had limited education. Yet, they ran a very successful business; they encouraged their children to graduate from college, raise families in a tangible, meaningful way, and respect and nurture the land they own.

When the extended family is together for a holiday or celebration, there’s always enough food for more families to join in; no one is ever a stranger to these folks. Even I, a native Californian.