That annoy, I was thinking this morning when my wife called attention to a dark track near a flowerbed that glistened. A leak, she suspected, from our watering system. Called away from my manuscript to examine, to opine, speculate, while the more knowledgeable son of the man whose team of workers does the mowing and trimming each week said, “It looks okay.” This after my wife had turned the sprinklers on to see if their pressure, as gauged by range of spray, was the same. It was, but still the mystery of the leak, because yesterday was hot, the sun bright as it has been since January 24, our last real rain in this parched part of Texas, as is most of our very large state. And yet a bog, the Saint Augustine wet as soaked sponge for several feet before the jasmine. I spent some time, while they were talking in the garage, checking the various settings of the watering system, wiping white spots from two terracotta pots. Another little thing that happened during the course of acid washing the brick. A long first step that had to be replaced after a crack formed in the mortar, another not so little thing that resulted when we chose the uncle of our handyman, who failed, we were told by the subsequent mason, to use the reinforcing rods necessary to hold the added brick. I could go on about these daily, or maybe weekly, nuisances, which pale, of course, compared to the more serious things in life people have to deal with. But still, they do make life a little less worth living when, if you’re like me, you spend so much time working on something, never really sure if it’s right, if it’s what it should be, but trying all the same to create something that will, well, last.