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It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Coolish. Rain moving in, according to radar. Hope it actually hits the ground because the grass is shriveling again and trees are losing their leaves. Saw a few sugar maples around town that were already turning, patches of vermilion amid the green.

It’s not just summer that’s blown by. It’s the whole damn year.

I’ve been harvesting tomatoes. Not enough to make a batch of marinara, but enough that I need to eat a couple every day to keep up. Forced to eat tomatoes still warm from the sun–there are worse things in life. I think I’m going to have to bring some to Chicago else they spoil on the vine.

Speaking of Chicago, slowly gearing up for Chicon. I didn’t have time to write anything new, so I will likely read excerpts from existing work. There two fantasy short stories that came out over the past few years–the anthos in which they appear are still available. Then there’s ENDGAME, which has been out for donkey’s years but which I never promoted. I may read a favorite scene. Not sure. Depends on the audience.

Getting clothes cleaned. Figuring out which to take. It’s going to be hot according to forecasts, but I am guessing that the convention area itself will be frickin’ freezing, as convention areas often are. Will bring layers. And a frock coat, which now fits thanks to the 20 pounds I left by the wayside over the last year. Black with burgundy lining. It’s not a true frock coat–no split back, and the cuffs aren’t truly cuffy. But it’s nice and spiff, a Saturday night item.

Oh hell, it’s this one. I forgot when I bought it–early to mid ’00s, maybe. Thought it would be the perfect con coat, then stopped going to cons. Will wear it with black pants. Heels. Frilly white shirt or t-shirt beneath? Have yet to decide.

On a somber note, I was saddened to hear of the death of Neil Armstrong. We were living in Florida when Apollo 11 went up. I was 11. I remember the night of the Moon landing–my aunt and uncle and their kids came over. Some camped out in front of the TV, while others chatted and played cards in the dining room. I confess that I went from one room to the other, and may have missed the actual moment. I remember it as being much, much later than it actually was, 2 or 3 am instead of 1130pm-ish. Still, it was way past my bedtime and I confess that I was not as excited as some people. But I remember that it was the sort of event that made folks want to gather together and keep their kids up well past their bedtime because it was momentous, dammit. How many events since could be called that?

I like to think that Armstrong is back up on the Moon, driving around in the LRV. Every so often, he stops and stares out at the Earth. Then he hits the road again, exploring all those areas of the lunar surface that he didn’t get to see the first time.