Sunday morning, typical plus: First there was indoor cycling, then a visit to the train station to watch the coming and going of the Coast Starlight. A bonus was the empty tank car train headed for the lower Salinas Valley for another 7500 tons and gallon count later/maybe of oil for export to make asphalt. The March glare rendered the various lined up valves and spigots on the tanks as an impressive train-o-pede through the track weave.

Then off to three stores, each a half mile apart and don't ask. The last one was my Tesco market and I was looking through the used---I MEAN CLEARANCE---section for a bread product. Yes, at this age I ought to know better. Maybe I'd find sourdough or rolls to accompany a concoction I would make at home with a couple of Asian noodle packages, a bit of leftover chow mein and cashew chicken from a previous foray to the used-whoops-markdown section, and brussels sprouts.

See? You didn't want to ask.

But what I did see were four loaves of Sheepherder bread, unusual for this place, at ninety cents marked down from two bucks. Ah, Dad; in those always exacting visits to another market with him we'd pick up this type of bread, a favorite of his, after an inital look into that place's bakery clearance rack.

I bought a loaf. Then it was home, keeping track of a rotating mish-mash of groceries, keys, the wallet---in gym clothes with warm weather so no jacket pocket---and bags. But forgetfully no cell phones.

One phone at home had a text from a Washingtonan brother: going to San Fernando today? Well, I was there the 14th to view a detouring southbound Coast Starlight go that way, and we do talk trains. But, gee---?

He reminded me. Dad passed this day two years ago. Then the good shepherd poked me with whatever that stick is called. Maybe mentor's gift of a word a day will supply the name.

I am headed for the Mortuary, on the outskirts of San Fernando, and I will have a slice of the bread with me. By the way, the Coast Starlight detours again tonight.