Christmas came, as I knew it would. I put up the little tree on Christmas eve. It stands about two feet tall. Then I installed the ceramic nativity set on the hearth. Two essential decorations, one a nod to the commercial, the other a nod to the religious.

I’m starting to get a Christmas tingle. Normally, by this time of the season I’m worn out and ready for it to end. Now, I feel like it’s just getting started. I’m glad I held off on the decorations, both inside and out. Christmas day this year may actually be more like a religious holiday than a commercial festival.

A measurable rain fell yesterday morning. Except the device with which said measurements are conducted, failed. Broke. Developed a crack. I was looking forward to the post rain trip to the fence but was sorely disappointed to discover upon arrival no solid evidence of the rain I had just witnessed.

Yesterday was an ordinary day until about five p.m. Then I got the text, along with pictures, that my wife’s monument had been placed. Nothing like a ton of gray granite with your loved one’s name engraved on it to announce the finality of death.

I finally planted the Pansies. Originally scheduled for porch pots, I put them in the ground. Now I can see them when I look out the kitchen window.

It’s a cold, spare morning today, just like the other cold, spare mornings that preceded it this week. There’s nary a breeze, and it’s setting up to be a nice day. Should be easy on a personal level as well.

Standing in the dark of my yard, staring across the dark of the park next door, I can see above the tree line the Christmas lights of Pedernales Electric co-op.

The husband of my wife’s favorite cousin passed away last night. The software I’m using to write this suggests I simply say he died. It feels a little abrupt. Passing away implies a continuation of a journey, which is something I’m certain he believed. So, I’m going to stick with that.

An internal debate is raging. Outside Christmas lights. No Outside Christmas lights. At the moment, the no’s are in the ascendancy. That could change with the weather.

For two years or maybe three I’ve stared at two spots, one on the wall in my bedroom and one in the bathroom, that needed retouching.

This might be strange. Bear with me. Imagine, if you will, the fabric of space and time, filling the universe in all directions. Then imagine a person moving through it. In the imagining, focus on the force of life that binds all the physical molecules of that person together, so that the image of the person is simply light.

The Ficus is in. Winter has officially started. Under the previous administration there would have been an accompanying array of plants to bring to shelter.

I’m untethered. For two years the poles of my universe alternated between home and a memory care facility down the road in Fredericksburg. I oriented my life to that town, shopping, medicine, everything.

I did a strange thing yesterday. I ported over the number from my wife’s old iPhone 5 to a new phone. It’s now the official number for Gatewood Press, which is fitting, I guess, since it’s the publisher of my new book about our experience with her dementia.

I closed a bank account the other day, actually a credit union account. Seems an inconsequential and rather ordinary thing to do.

It’s 38, raining, and there’s a hurricane in the Gulf. Seems pretty normal for October.

Went to bed thinking I had a subject for today’s essay. Woke up with no subject in mind. That’s a little disconcerting.

I’m starting to enjoy my two-stage nightly sleep. Go to bed. Dump all the day’s troubles.

Inconsequential factoid. I slept in the center of the king bed last night on what shall now be known as the hill between the valleys of the two bodies.

Did something unusual yesterday. Met a stranger. Sight unseen.