Frost on the Pumpkin

Tomatoes ripening in kitchen window, with vase of late flowers and herbs. Frost damage to the world's most beautiful begonia. It has been a stalwart all summer, through rain, drought, sun and cold. I feed it something called "Super Bloom" that I have to buy in Florida or Arizona. My mom swore by it.

Pork tenderloin was downright addictive last night, with grilled summer squash and zucchini sprinkled liberally with fresh herbs, and more herbs in the risotto. I will be sad when the herbs are gone. Need to dry some oregano, as the last of my Mexican oregano is dwindling.

Prepping to enter the Borders/Gather novel contest, with Promiscuous Mode, a different book than to Amazon's contest. The only good thing about having two finished books lying around. Festival Madness still being tweaked, but the plot and the archtypes seem solid. Then I have three finished books lying around. No word from the publisher or the agents looking at World of Mirrors.

In the meantime, I have written 400 words of the new novel. And made great strides on my new web page. And winterized the deck and brought the plants in. Always 50 things to do. And one of them is to get dressed. So comfortable to schlump around in robe and p.j.'s and cozy socks. I think they are called lounge socks. Nice and fuzzy and warm. I bought another pair at the Job Lot after I broke my ankle. Perfect broken ankle socks. When you're a writer, every day is casual day and some days are ultra-casual.

I have a friend who admits that she comes home from work and puts her jammies on. Way cool. Of course we are all reeling from the Red Sox win, a good reel, just too many late nights, too much adrenaline, too much, too much. Being a part of Red Sox Nation can be exhausting. Reading the sports pages in the Globe this a.m. was exhausting. Like too much chocolate.

Zowie! No sucking it up about the Red Sox this year.

Right on!

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