The time has come for the storm door. I have been keeping the back door closed because of the cold so Gracie rings her bells to go out. I trudge to the kitchen, open the door and wait so I can close the door when Gracie comes back inside. No question about it, the screen door is done for the season.

The game Sunday was wonderful. It was perfect fall baseball weather with lots of sun and a cooling breeze. My friends and I were not seated together so I made random comments aloud prompted by good fielding and a couple of home runs. The lady beside me was mute: she didn’t choose to chat. The guy on the other side tolerated my blithering. He had driven down from Maine, but it took him less time than it had taken us. The traffic was so slow going off cape it took us nearly an hour to get to the bridge. That game was the last one at home for the regular season. The Sox will be in Colorado for the next two games, and my family, wearing their Red Sox garb, will be  cheering them on. I’ll watch on TV.

Today Gracie and I will go to the dump then to the farm stand. I’d like some gourds for the basket on the front steps. A small pumpkin is already there, but I love all the different colors and shapes of the gourds. I have some gourds I brought back from Ghana. Some were used when taking a bucket bath while others are ornamental with wood burned or etched designs. I never saw them growing nor did I see any in the market before the outsides had rotted or been removed. Women fill the gourds with rice then stand and let the rice fall in a cascade from the gourd into a pan. The hope is the small stones in the rice will pop out of the pan and be removed during the process. It is not always successful. Stones in cooked rice are pretty common. Broken teeth are too.

The birds are back in huge numbers. It seems I have been forgiven for my lapse of a day without seed. The thistle feeder had three goldfinches on it; none of them were wearing bright yellow. I think the finches are starting to sport their winter color or rather their lack of color. It is time to start bracing ourselves for the season of drab: one of leafless trees, desolate gardens, early darkness and clothes of muted colors.

The good thing is I have recovered.