Here’s an odd thing I’ve noticed in my journey of recovery from the illness and the loss of my wife. Sports are once again interesting, particularly when there’s a story involved, a story such as the emergence of the Detroit Lions as a winning team, having won nothing for a long time.

I had a day yesterday. Got things done. Found a cache of linens, fine napkins, tablecloths. Paid my property taxes. Had my garbage disposal replaced. Bought a new comforter. Bought new pillow shams. Washed windows.

I did it. Installed new lights in the China Cabinet. Emptied it. Moved it. Washed most of the display items. Re-displayed everything. I even washed all of my late wife’s blue glass. Put it in the China Cabinet.

I came to Houston in January, 1963. Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to James Coney Island’s hot dogs by the son of my journalism teacher who felt obligated to introduce me to Houston’s treasures.

I miss the big booms of Gulf Coast thunderstorms, with their white flashes and window rattling rumbles. The kind of storm that feels as though you’re right out in it even though you’re in a house.

It was another good day of going and doing. Bought the paint for today’s job. Boxed up the daily use Pfaltzgraff China. Then, late in the evening I made a discovery that undid my previous work of days before.

Woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain, a steady rain. Walked out onto the porch to check it out. Listened for a bit then went back inside to bed and to sleep. It was a good sleep, and I woke refreshed this morning.

The death of my friend this week got me thinking about the death of my wife. A natural progression. It’s been three and a half years since she died.

Another life is over. Another friend is gone. And now the ripples of grief are running through the fabric of the lives he touched.

Took down a seldom used cup for coffee this morning. It asked if I’d still love it when it was 64. I think it was a gift from my wife for a birthday or anniversary or maybe Christmas. I really have no idea. I only know it’s been in the house a long time because there was a time when 64 felt like it was a long way off.

After a life trained by work, where the days were driven by preparation and planning, it’s odd to be in a situation where that’s no longer central to my life.

The day dawns clear and cold which is a nice break from clear and cloudy which translates into gloomy and turns us all into recluses. This is more like it.

Once, in the days before children, in earliest years of marriage, we went camping with another couple. Dear friends. It was winter. We were young. It was cold. We stayed in a tent. The temperature dipped into the teens.

In other good news, Pluto is leaving Capricorn and going to Aquarius. According to all the TikTok’s in my feed, that’s good news for me because I’m a Cancer having been born in July.

Drove into Houston yesterday to watch my granddaughter perform at an indoor track meet. She long jumped, she ran, everyone seemed happy.

I have a love hate relationship with my sinuses. Normally, I think they’re cool. We breathe in and out and everything is good. I do my best to keep out the viruses and bacteria. But every once in a while, something gets in and we’re off to the races.

Dishes. I have dishes. It’s amazing the variety of dishes a couple can collect in 50 years of marriage while raising three kids. We have three sets of China.

The cold has come, and it will come again next week, except next time it will bring reinforcements. We’ll be in for a hard freeze. Okay, I’m fine with that.

The house is unadorned. All remnants of Christmas are packed and in the attic. All except for the gifts, I received. I have a soft Christmas blanket, a fine new backpack, a lovely set of glass storage dishes, clothes, and memories, lots of memories -- music, walks, talks, food, fun, laughter.

The wise men have come and gone. The Feast of the Epiphany is over. I can start taking down my Christmas decorations. All the colored lights will soon be boxed. The angels stored for another year. The Nativity Set wrapped and bundled. The winter season will officially be upon me.