Talk about old habits. On the anniversary of my wife’s death, I decided to remove my wedding band. It’s been well over a week, yet I find myself reaching down to absentmindedly fiddle with the ring.

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.

A black and yellow garden spider has set up shop in the turks cap beneath the Mexican plum in the little garden at the west end of the south porch in the tifway yard.

I need thicker hide, tougher skin, something to absorb the blows. Every little thing these days feels like a personal affront. I realize as I get older that my skin gets thinner, but you’d expect better callouses on the emotional side.

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.

I thought I’d have something to say on the first anniversary of my wife’s death. Turns out I’m struggling for words.

Lost limb from the sumac to the storms the other day. Just stripped it right off.

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.

I am on bended knee begging forgiveness. I have sullied the reputation of ground squirrels with my allegations of peach pilfering.

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.

Here we go. Summer. The morning air is hot and heavy. With no rain, it will keep building like this, until one morning it will feel like I’m living in an oven.

On my drive home from Marble Falls yesterday, I saw the tail end of a large rainbow touching the ground. It was off toward the east where the rain was falling, created by the sun, low in the west.