I have a friend who plays tennis. She’s not playing to become the next Martina Navratilova.

I think the Victorians were on to something with all their etiquette surrounding death.

There’s something about sitting down to write my morning missive at 9:50 that seems decidedly wrong.

Here’s to cool mornings and warm days. They’re especially nice when they follow days of rain.

The mini-memorial weekend for the departed mother went well. The children were all in place by Saturday afternoon, and the music started shortly thereafter.

It’s another beautiful fall morning. Cool with a light breeze. There’s life in the plants, with blooms everywhere.

It’s not a good time to have a bad relationship with pollen. I’ve done everything in my power to make it good, but the pollen couldn’t care less.

The recent rains brightened the garden to a considerable extent. I noticed yesterday that the Asters beneath the Lacy Oak are about ready to join the show…