I found myself sitting alone by an empty chair last night as the final evening of the Third Ever Marathon Songwriters Festivals got underway in the dance court of the Gage Hotel.

I’m hanging with a big group of friends listening to music in Marathon, which seems a long way to go to hear folks play who live almost down the street from where I live, but sometimes you just have to get out of the house, and it’s a nice break when you do.

While I’ve got you metaphysically cornered, I’m going to tell you a crazy uncle story.

There I was yesterday evening, sitting in my easy chair, after eating a dinner of friend zucchini and venison sausage, feeling all manly, when I looked down and realized my tee shirt was inside out.

Yesterday it was dishwasher’s, today it’s another domestic chore, laundry and its distant cousin, ironing.

My dishwasher bit the dust the other day. Twelve years of hard water and hard work took its toll. All it does now is blink at me, little blue lights, flashing away beside unresponsive buttons.

If you live in Hill Country, you should be getting up in the morning and going outside. The air is cool and fine. It’s a once in a lifetime August.

I was on fire yesterday. The day started with my usual one-mile power walk. Then I fired up my new power washer. Manpower and horsepower.

Wow. Went to hear music and sit with friends yesterday. To celebrate we got pelted with rain. And then it rained again last night. Is this still Texas?

Canned another six pints of peach jam yesterday (twelve, eight-ounce jars). It’s far from a lyrical enterprise when you do it by yourself.

Went outside last night. Stood in the dark and looked up at the stars. The milky way stretched across the sky. I thought how nice it was to have a place where I could do that.

For a very brief period of my life, I wrote about popular music. I lived in Houston and attended the university of the same name. It coincided with the rise of several eventually famous artists, and one of them was ZZ Top.

I think the feasting is done. The raccoons come at night. I come in the day. We all pick. Their bellies are full. My refrigerator is full.

It’s amazing how sore I can get from simply driving my car.

There was joyful noise in the house yesterday, children were underfoot while adults worked in the kitchen. The neighbors, even though they live fifty miles away, came to help me, a solitary soul can his fruit.

Yesterday, I was fretting about squirrels and peaches. Today, it’s elves. I did laundry yesterday and I have no idea where all those clothes came from.

At one point after high school, I worked for Ma Bell. We worked in teams of two. I was the junior member, obviously. We listened to a lot of radio, mostly country, but some talk, and the talk was always Paul Harvey. Those guys loved Paul. I liked his stories, too.

Drove across the rain-soaked hills of the Devil’s Backbone yesterday evening after listening to music with two friends at a local brewery.

I’m happy to report I made it home in one piece, which sort of goes without saying, since I’m writing this.

There are two cabinets over the washing machine, two cabinets over the dryer, with three shelves each.