A couple of days ago, I forgot my belt. After showering at the pool, I reached for the black belt in the backpack and it wasn’t there.

Two days ago Maggie Baker loaded her parents’ purple 1995 Honda Odyssey van with clothes, photos, succulents she bought at the swap meet, Nana’s blanket knitted a long time ago and her running spikes, said goodbye to her parents and drove away from her home on Round Mountain Road, where she …

Friday morning, I walked by Rabobank Arena. The circus was in town but at 5:15 a.m., the circus was asleep. The parking lot south of Rabobank was filled with red trailers and semis with “Ringling Brothers, the Greatest Show on Earth” written on the side.

I was on my way to vote Tuesday when I stopped by the Vons on Stockdale Highway to buy as much Fever Tree Tonic as I could carry without balancing some on my head. It’s gin and tonic weather and I bought the last two four-packs of Fever Tree, the product guaranteed to make a gin and tonic sparkle.

If I hadn’t known summer was here, I was reminded when the air conditioner quit upstairs. The fan worked fine, but it was blowing hot air. I put my hand up to the vent and turned it over and back again. First palm and then the back of my hand. Maybe one side or the other ran hot or cold. Nop…

Ten years ago, a friend gave me his free weights. He was emptying his garage and lacked room. Lacked room and probably had that moment when he stared at the weights and the weights stared back.

I stopped for cookies at Jake’s last week to take care of my fix — chocolate chip, white chocolate chip and potato chip and their new chocolate brownie cookies — and had a chance to catch up with owner Sarah Slayton-Price.

Sunday at 8:45 a.m., I drove to Floyd’s on Chester. They don’t open until 9 on Sunday so I sat in the parking lot for 15 minutes listening to Andrea Bocelli, who can either sing the sadness out of you or the longing in, depending on which way you’re leaning.

I laid an egg recently. If I wanted to do it now, I could lay an egg but I can’t and I don’t need to because one egg is enough for one person to lay in a column.

Last Sunday, I wrote a profile on retired doctor Tom Larwood. I said that in addition to his accomplishments — patients who rued the day he retired, valley fever research and public service work that exceeded all but the saintly — Larwood had a terrific sense of humor and an ever-present chuckle.

If some of the hymns sung in American churches specialize in bringing the “good news,” Robert Provencio, director of the Bakersfield Master Chorale, is brimming with it.