My granddaughter asked why I kept her first crooked letter when she can do a much better one now. Fair question. Told her because it was the first, then wondered why that settles it for me. I have thrown out practice sheets with perfectly good lettering on them and kept old scraps with mistakes because I remember who was in the shop that day. If I make this archive of my signs, I will need dates and street names, not just stories about the owner bringing us lunch. Started a list after coffee. Already have two places with the same name and no idea which came first. My wife says check the backs of the photographs.

Good light early, before the yard got hot. My wife handed me a cold orange she had cut into quarters, and I ate it standing by the shed with the juice running down the side of my hand. Could smell the peel over the paint for once. I wasn't even hungry until I bit into it. After that I sat in the shade and let my arm hang loose, not testing the shoulder, not doing an exercise, just letting it be an arm for a while. She said there were chairs inside too, you know. But inside you don't get that little breeze at the back of your neck, and inside somebody will put the news on.

Passed a little tire shop I lettered years ago and saw the owner had cleaned the wall around my old sign without painting over it. He came out waving, wanted me to see how well it still looked. A few letters are faded, the red especially, but I was pleased enough to stand in the sun far longer than I should. Some days I go around town counting what has disappeared. Today somebody had bothered to keep something. Told my wife at supper and she asked if I had offered to touch it up for free. No, señora, I did not. I offered to come back and have a look, which apparently sounds the same to her.