Maine had such a long glorious rain--all day and all night--and meanwhile a hurricane was tearing up the South. I've been fretting about friends in Florida and Georgia who've been suffering whirl and deluge as I sat by my little wood fire watching a sleek and steady trickle down the panes.

Yesterday was an easy day to be homebound in the little northern city by the sea . . . housework, desk work, reading by the fire. Gingerbread in the oven, and then an evening out with my Thursday-night writing friends.

Today I'll open a new editing project, work on some class planning, clear my car out of the driveway so the lumberyard can drop a load of fir veneer there (T's materials for the incipient cupboard doors). I'll get the trash to the curb,  I'll take a foraging walk, maybe I'll go to the fish market. Everything outside is soaked and sodden. It's been a long time since this town has been so wet.

I've been trying not to get anxious about my book launches. I keep trying to chase away worries that no one will show up. Well, maybe they won't.