Thanksgiving.

Tom Hanks

Saturday was a beautiful day. Thanksgiving weekend is the end of the season here. People with summer places come to winterize their cabins and to take in the open studio tour. 

After our walk early morning walk on Saturday, I went to the last Farmers’ Market and then Sheba and I went to Drumbeg. I’ve never seen it so populated. There were lots of tourists taking photographs and many many dogs.

I did errands in the afternoon knowing that Sunday would be wet. I got several big pieces of wood for the fire and settled in for the evening. (I’m still astounded that I’ve become a person who thrives in solitude and listens to opera and choral music.)

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Sunday, as promised, was wet. Sheba wore her new raincoat for the first time when we went on the community dog walk—there was even another dog in the same outfit. We’re stylin’, my dog and me—well, not me!

I made some squash soup. And at about 5:30, Connie and Ranza arrived for champagne and potato chips by the fire at Happy Hour. Then, my favourite: Sunday night with soup, a fire, Anne with an “E,” Endeavor,and The Durrells.

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Today Sheba and walked with our dog-walking group is real rain. I got soaked through my coat but my feet stayed dry and that’s what matters most. I can’t believe I go walking in the rain. I’m such a pussy about discomfort, but I’m very glad for both of us that we walk every morning together.

I realize I will be fine this winter—with neither visitors nor projects—thanks to the walks. I come home to a lovely warm cabin and all its amenities, especially the fire. I love having a fireplace.

Today: I bake.