Three essential things in my head this morning.

At 11 a.m., I’m going to Greenwich, N.Y., for my first ukulele lesson with Bob Warren, a musician, teacher,  composer, and the co-owner of the “A Little Paris” food cart, also in Greenwich.

I’m mentoring Killian this evening.

My daughter Emma and granddaughter Robin are coming to spend much of the weekend, their first visit in three-plus years.

The Ukelele lesson comes first.

Ukeleles have always seemed silly to me, something for amateurs to play, not real musicians. But the more I know about them, the more fun I think they will be, and the easier for me to learn than almost any other instrument.

I love the idea of making music; I see myself playing “Ode To Joy” at our bi-annual Equinox bonfires.

I have a rocky history with education. I left or got kicked out of two colleges, and my teachers all found me frustrated, and some thought I was just dumb (they didn’t know much about Dyslexia then). I like Bob Warren a lot, and I trust him.

I’m unsure why I am doing this or if I will stick with it. But something inside of me is you is saying, “give it a shot, give it a shot.” It just feels like fun.

Tonight, my creative writing student Killian and I have scheduled an hour or so to go over his short story. It’s called “Horror Story: A Night At Prochtman’s Bowl.” I’m looking forward to it, and so is he.

I think he’s learning that I’m about as scary as a turnip. I like working with him, he’s awfully nice and bright, and it’s great fun patching a horror story together, something new for me.

I am enjoying our friendship and relationship.

The weekend is a significant milestone.  I’m a bit anxious about it.

My daughter and granddaughter are coming in Saturday on the train; I’m going to pick them up in Albany and take them to their Airbnb in town.

They’re staying until Monday morning, and their only request is to go apple picking; no problem there.

This is the first visit since before the pandemic, and I’m looking forward to spending some time with Robin, my granddaughter, who I barely know.

Emma and I have stayed in touch; we are both good on the phone. She’s bringing the Canon camera I got her for a birthday last year, perhaps we’ll go out and take some photos together.

There are vast cultural differences between a kid growing up in Brooklyn in 2022 and people who live on a farm in upstate N.Y. That’s nobody’s fault, it is what it is, and I am preparing to love and fully accept these two people as I get to learn who they are once more.

There’s a lot to connect us. I have a robot to assemble and a big stack of books to read together. Saturday night, wood-fried pizza from Shift, the rolling wood-frierd pizza place.

And she says she loves dogs and animals. Should be fun, then.

I have visions of Maria and Robin feeding the animals together, but these are not people who like bugs, ticks, and manure. We’ll see. I imagine I will seem strange to Robin (I already seem strange to Emma), and I am learning to remember that I can make people nervous without even trying.

A whole few days. I’ll share it all, as always. Off to learn the ukelele, I expect to come home with one.