What an odd day. It starts with an early morning text from a friend who just lost someone from ALS. Time’s going so fast. A moment of panic that I missed my second husband’s and my father’s heavenly birthdays, but a quick glance at my cellphone tells me, no, it’s only early June. On the way to the post office, I drive by the corner where the tiny Caintuckee Grill used to stand, that Aunt Marilyn once worked in, now a colossal Church of Scientology. Then, the assisted living place where Mom spent most of her last years. At the next light, a five-way intersection, something makes me picture the long-gone building where my deceased first husband owned a White Palace restaurant sued by White Castle for name infringement years before I met him. Another few miles, I pass where The Colonial Cottage stood from 1933 to 2023, known for its goetta, fried chicken, cream pies. I ate there for sixty years. Two more blocks, with time to kill before a doctor’s appointment, I enter Forest Lawn Cemetery, where I once walked with Richard nearly every evening—his relatives buried there. Disoriented when I discover the Dr. Caleb Manly Mansion, built in 1852, is nowhere in sight, replaced by a rundown trailer. I park in shade near the lake shore pierced by cypress knees, put the windows down, grab my cellphone, enter the Merlin bird app, press the sound-ID tab, take a deep breath, wait for birds to be heard and identified: Northern cardinal, Red-winged blackbird, American robin, European starling, Carolina wren, Tufted titmouse, Downy woodpecker, Brown-headed cowbird.