Gave two of my wife’s little bags to two little girls yesterday. Nick-knack bags with pink felt flowers and the like.

I was thinking about taking a break from writing about death and destruction as I deconstruct my wife’s closet, but it’s pretty much a constant and not really that much of a struggle.

Friends. Yesterday was seismic. As seven boxes of my wife’s clothes and shoes went out the door a new recliner crashed into the room. Continents drifted. Mountains rose. New oceans formed.

I did what I thought was going to be a hard job yesterday. I packed up my late wife’s clothing for the local Catholic charity in Fredericksburg. It was hard.

An unusually wet July and August have done wonders for the khaki weed harvest. Crop yields are way up.

Preamble: In 1975 we bought our first house. It was built by my father-in-law in a new subdivision he was developing in Pasadena. His house was right down the street and around the corner from ours.

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.

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

Yesterday, however, as I settled into my chair after breakfast and turned on the tunes. I had a thought. What if, rather than building a refuge, I’d actually built a prison.

Two projects are on tap today. A pool hose needs replacing, no big deal. New speakers need to be installed in the ceiling, big deal.

I traveled a once well-traveled road yesterday.

Went with friends to visit my wife’s grave yesterday. We hung a little decorative pendant by the headstone. It was made by her Ya-Ya’s at their last gathering.

When a good wind blows, the air around the house is full of crape myrtle blossoms, little bits, blown from the big trees.

Last year, today marked the 50th anniversary of my wedding. This year it’s just another day.

Had a dream about my wife and slept right through a thunderstorm last night. In fact, I thought the thunderstorm was part of the dream. Nothing but snippets left this morning.

I had a gloomy spell yesterday afternoon. I was driving through the countryside on the way to hear music, and it swept over me.

I’ve had a series of spirit lifting days, mostly filled with music, satisfying work, and good company.

They say you learn how to grieve as a child by watching those around you. I never thought much about it until now with the passing of my wife. Then I started taking an inventory.

Went to the river this weekend. Camped in the woods, beneath the big pecans. The trees are heavy and thick with age.