Home alone, writing.
February 20, 2022
Home alone. Todd’s family (minus Todd) is visiting, but they are over at Vern’s house picking up some dozens of hand-warmers they can use to keep their phones alive while skiing in sub-zero weather at Jackson Hole.
What a pleasure it is with Cyrus. He likes to play his banjo, a four-string tuned the same as a ukulele. He picked up my ukulele and started strumming the “Big Rock Candy Mountain.”
I can play along with guitar. I have trouble with the banjo. I have two such banjos. One is a Deering, the other is a Fender.
Just now I got a telephone call from Lansing, our adopted grandson, who is in the Yellowstone County jail for a serious felony charge: assault resulting in breaking a bone and causing a large laceration.
He wants to pursue regular life choices, including learning to be a welder or have some other skill, and joining the armed forces. This is hard when he keeps getting into trouble.
I told Lansing we love him (we do) and we want him to know that he is not alone.
Lansing told me he is glad and he is going to call our son Bob next.
Nothing else to report. Except I’m glad to be writing at all, especially when the muse is not cooperating with me.
insearchofbud 
Hey Dan,
I am sorry that you are alone. I would befriend you if I were closer to you. The banjo playing sounds good for you, your spirits, and Cyrus.
As for Lansing, we know nothing about the lad. How did you come to have an adopted grandson?
Life isn’t just plodding along. It is galloping and just keeps on moving no matter what anyone does even Vladimir Putin.
The “alone” part lasted only an hour, plus or minus. We got to know Lansing a year or two before when Bob and Heather became his legal guardians.