It’s a slow read. Sorry, but it’s the mood.

Odd weather. Really, I’m perfectly happy if it’s 97 and dry. 89 and wet though makes me miserable and turns my armpits into gravy cesspools. (That observation brought to you by my still active 12-year-old self).

Grasshoppers have made their appearance. I didn’t know until this year that it had to do with time, I used to think that they were good some years and bad others. Nope, I hadn’t seen one until last night at work, with this khaki-green hopper that wanted to end it all by jumping into the garbage disposal.

Then I get home and two more ju mp on me before I can walk inside. I always liked grasshoppers growing up. They were plentiful, easy to catch and didn’t seem to mind so much when you put them on a hook.

Now, I think that I’ll have to spray my plants again. I’ve shepherded the mint and sage through the hot, dry spells, I can get them through the grasshoppers, by God.

It’s strange -- how seeing something I planted put out a flower brings a feeling of personal achievement to me -- and yet I still have no urge to kiss a guy. My precepts of masculinity might have been wrong.

Anyway, time passes by at an unbelievably fast rate nowadays. We’ve brought in furniture for the new room at the farm house, and the place has a nice look of completeness. My Dad has been working on this thing, in his mind, since he was in his 20s.

Now in his mid-seventies, I wonder what he’s going to do next, or if he has a slightly empty feeling now that the project is almost over and done. I don’t know the answer, because we don’t talk about that crap.

The wedding closes in, and me and Meredith have gotten to a point where we essentially think we’re done with the planning. Actually, we know we’ve missed something but have no idea what it is, and have ceased caring so much.

Anyway, enjoy the season with a picture of Jimbo. He’s kind of like Forest Gump. In all the still photos in the movie, Forest has his eyes closed. In all pictures of Jimbo, his eyes are closed, or his tongue is hanging out, or he’s showing his happiness in an inappropriate manner. But I feel guilty about not getting his picture out, so …