#augustbreak: make my day, why don't you

This day has not gone well. I woke up with a stiff neck and it’s gone downhill from there. And then the doorbell rang, and a very nice man handed me a package full of wonderful books. I can’t wait to sail in!

• Kate Morton, The Secret Keeper (ARC edition, coming out on October 9 if you believe Goodreads or October 16 if you believe the ARC cover)
• Felix J. Palma, The Map of the Sky (hardcover, coming out on September 4—you have just enough time to read the first book, The Map of Time, which was a five-star book for me)
• James Treadwell, Advent (hardcover, and it’s been out for a good long while)

Dear lovely people at Simon and Schuster, you fixed up today. If these books are as good as your timing, I have a lot to look forward to.

As for the rest of you: I’ve finally moved my book reviews (which I haven’t done in eons) to a separate page so that they aren’t in the flow of the regular journal posts. I’ll still link a heads-up when I’ve written a review of a book I think you might like, but for those of you who don’t care, they’re out of the way. More about this when things sort themselves out house-sale-wise.

#augustbreak: just ordinary

This year the sunsets have been very unimpressive compared to the stunners I saw in 2011. But I like them anyway, even if they’re only weakly colorful, because they come with this view that I won’t have for very much longer. I know these trees and the other houses so well it’s as if I’ve always lived here.

#augustbreak: miss edith speaks out of turn

Miss Edith is sentient, I swear it. And ballsy, and a broad. Earlier this summer, though I had given up all hope of her ever growing again after a dismal showing last year, she went about the business of sending a few canes up into the world. And I noted them, and praised them, and did all the things you’re supposed to do. When the drought hit, the canes crisped up like overcooked bacon and I cut them away. Not exactly the thing you want a prospective buyer to see, even after a brutally hot year.

Then a little rain came. Not much. Not nearly enough, you would have thought. But god damn it, here she goes again. She doesn’t care that there’s not enough time left this summer for her to flower; she just wasn’t going to take that drought—or my presumptuous pruning—lying down. If I had half her gumption there’s no telling what I could do.

(Earlier: Miss Edith after an ice storm; Miss Edith’s only flower ever. Also, I name everything, not just shrubbery, and now you know this about me.)

#augustbreak: step away from the garlic

I make a gigantic quantity of chickpeas and black beans in the slow cooker because it is way cheaper than canned and uses vastly less salt. They also have flavor, unlike most canned beans, and they freeze perfectly. And then it is a matter of only minutes to scoop some into a pan with garlic and oil, heat them up, and toss them with anything in the world (today it was lemon juice, piment d’espelette, and za’atar sent straight from Roxanne when she was in Jerusalem), and a dusting of sumac once they were off the heat. You could squeeze a lemon wedge on top too, if you wanted. The leftovers are even good cold. A few minutes later and you’re back at work, but you didn’t hear that from me.

#augustbreak: command center

Everything that I need to know between now and the first month or so in the new house is in this notebook, every phone number or due date or cost estimate. It was a gift eons ago from someone who knew my propensity for evildoing. I’m on the side of good these days and my eyes are not nearly as crazy as this lady’s. I seem to attract notebooks to me without any effort at all, and this one has been unused on a shelf for long enough.