There's No Denying That It's Autumn

First, our front yard's a carpet of gorgeous red and orange leaves.  There was a message on the answering machine saying that the lawn guys are coming on Monday for the last spray of the season and they'd appreciate it if the leaves were raked up.  (What if I'm not ready to rake the leaves, huh?  What if I like the way it looks like an expensive Persian carpet?  What about my leaf needs?)  I'm glad I've convinced Durwood not to have them come next year because all that weed killer leaves holes in the lawn where the weeds used to be and now there's just dirt, and we didn't have many butterflies this year, and his raspberries looked like they got sprayed with something, so I'm not a fan, not a fan at all.

Second, the mums across the front of the house are blooming like mad.  I just love their colors, especially the gold and dark red ones that cozy up to each other right by the front door.  The white ones and the yellow ones didn't survive (are pale colors less hardy?) so there are gaps but perhaps I can buy some at an end of season sale at some discount plant place to fill in.  I'd also like to plant a witch hazel bush if I can figure out where to plant one, maybe I'll get to that next Wednesday instead of this weekend because...

Third, I took the bull by the horns yesterday afternoon just before I left work and reserved a motel room in Door County for Saturday night.  I plan to go up to The Clearing and pester my friend, KS while she's working, take a walk in the fall woods and along the bay, take lots of pictures, then get myself a little supper and tuck into my room for the night.  Not that I haven't just been away from home for 2 weeks but for a loner like me that's a lot of intense togetherness so I saved a bit of moolah for a teeny-tiny getaway all by myself.  I figure since I have to get up before the crack of dawn tomorrow to help get the university students geared up for their dives this weekend I might as well throw a bag in my car and zoom away for a breather.  In case you're wondering, when I told Durwood about it when I got home from work he said, "good."  He's a good man. 

October 25--Gustav Klimt, Textile Sample.  The water was clear and almost still.  Her hair floated like kelp with the small movements of the lake as it breathed in the last slanting light of the day.  Julie Jacobsen stood in the sunset light shading her eyes against the glare.  She was waiting for the crime scene crew, trying to note every detail before they arrived.  Dan Wellner had flagged her down out on the road that passed his place.  The usually taciturn man was stuttering and wild-eyed.  "Felicia," he said, "she's... she's..."  Words failed him so he tugged her out of the her Bronco and nearly dragged her to the edge of the bay.  Now she was afraid that they had trampled clues, signs in the long grass as to how young Felicia Martens had come to be weighted down in the shallows behind Dan's boat shed.

And that's all she wrote.  It was too tired last night to go any further, I wanted to keep on but the Sandman clubbed me over the head and dragged me away.  C'est la vie.  I have to work today.  *sigh*  Only until 4:30 and then we're going to the Barbershoppers concert and supper so no knitting night for me today, but Durwood gets out of cooking so that's something, right?  You have a good day.  I'm outta here.
--Barbara