36 degrees here this morning . . . not quite a frost, but close. It's still strange to me to listen to the furnace run; it's still strange to realize I own a furnace. Automatic heat. What a concept.

I guess today is the day to tear out the rest of the sunflowers, though I'm hoping to hang on to the dahlias for a bit longer. I've got garlic, shallots, and flower bulbs to plant: maybe I'll manage to get that done too. Or maybe not.

Yesterday I finalized the 2020 Frost Place conference lineup. I'm pretty excited about our faculty, and am anxious to share the names with you, but I'll refrain till contracts, etc., are worked out. I prepped for my Monson class, and finished editing a chapter, and made it through power yoga, and bought a bus ticket to the airport--all in all, a constructive use of a Friday that I really wanted to spend under a blanket with a book.

None of my favored baseball teams are doing very well in the playoffs so far. Apparently I am bad luck in that regard.

Tom's making me a birthday feast this weekend. I wonder what I'll be having. He's also discussing upgrades to our basement laundry situation, which is currently slapdash and/or grim. Maybe I'll be getting clotheslines and a new dryer vent for my birthday. How exciting! Or perhaps I mean: How exciting.