"After" pictures. Because I said I would. But they sure are dull.

If Martha Stewart were going to take a picture of a recently tidied kitchen drawer -- and she might -- it would not be like this. For one thing, it would contain more picturesque stuff.

And then it would be dressed up. The measuring spoons would be tied together with Midori ribbon and the garlic press would be decked with sprigs of lavender and everything would either match or be fascinatingly collectibly mismatched. The organizers would not be white plastic and old Yorkshire Tea boxes, but wicker painted the colors of rare hens' eggs. Or stainless steel. The drawer itself would be snazzier in some way.

I have much more photogenic drawers and cabinets than these, but I am stuck with these for the "after" pictures because they are what I had for "before" pictures. It is the spaces full of dull stuff that get messy.

Ozarque was not impressed by my "before" pictures, actually, and claimed to have much untidier drawers and cabinets. I have spent a lot of time in Ozarque's kitchen, and I don't recall that it was all that messy. However, we do not often see into other people's cabinets, do we?

It happens that my friend Partygirl has a kitchen that is laid out exactly like mine (we live in the same neighborhood, and probably had the same builder, way back in the mists of time when these houses were built). And it happens that I was helping in her kitchen one day, which is really the only way we get to see the innards of people's kitchen storage. And this is how I know that the cabinet in her house which corresponds to my Plastic Stuff and Holiday Dishes cabinet contains kitchen gear packed in the original boxes.

I was kind of impressed by that. I can't imagine going to the trouble of putting any bit of kitchen stuff back into its box before putting it away.

Here also is an "after" picture of the table runner, after I spent the afternoon and evening working on it.

And, because I realize that it hardly looks any different, a picture with no flash, in an attempt to show the quilting.

It is still dark outside, so there are limits to what I can do in the way of no-flash photography, but stitching did take place yesterday,and here it is.

I did not do all the things I should have yesterday.

I began the day with the running of errands, including a trip to the mall.

One of the first things you do when Overcoming Agoraphobia is to make a list of your aversions, ranked by how distressing you find them. So, for me, the list runs from using the telephone (mild disinclination) to driving in winter weather (abject terror). Going to the mall is in the middle there. I don't feel frightened at all, but I do tend to feel disoriented, confused, and desperate to leave and go home.

However, once I arrived and found the store which was my major objective, I had no difficulty. This store had no difficult aspects --

I don't know quite how to put that. Agoraphobia is about aversions, and they have to do with travel, social or business interactions, spaces, and sometimes food. I don't really see the connection among these things, but apparently agoraphobia just never involves aversions to particular animals or tubas or anything, just those four issues. All the things I have trouble with that involve travel can be easily summed up by the term "scary roads." During my work on Overcoming my Agoraphobia, I put in all sorts of time determining exactly what constituted a scary road, though I also found to my surprise that normal people really saw no difference between scary and non-scary roads, even when they were traveling with me and beguiling the time by trying to learn to recognize them.

Since shopping centers are pretty low on my list of aversions and also very low on my list of priorities, I have not made the same effort to identify the factors that make one store more unpleasant to me than another, or to come up with a term that would allow me to discuss why I enjoy the farmers market and hate grocery stores. But the store at the mall that I went to was okay.

I have shopped at this place before and they sent me a catalog last month. It had the surprising effect of causing me to want to buy an article of clothing.

I have read that the average American woman buys a piece of clothing every week. I manage about six a year, which is an enormous improvement over my previous ways. The woman I teach Sunday School with was telling the kids how she has a rule: when she buys a new blouse, she has to get rid of an old one. This was met with complete silence, and she looked to me for support, but I had nothing to offer her. I am working hard on having enough clothing that I can throw things away when they have holes in them.

So I was sort of excited about the idea of buying a couple of garments. Again, this is hard to explain. I suppose it would be most like beginning to take an interest in food after a bout of the flu or something. Just the fact of actually wanting to buy a piece of clothing seemed like progress.

 I told #2 daughter that I was toying with the idea of ordering a skirt and top. She told me I had to go to the physical store and try them on. I saw the justice of this. After all, both my daughters live in other states, and I cannot very well expect them to come and help me buy clothing. I will just have to get accustomed to it if I am not to look like an absolute hobo. And it only took me a week or two to bring myself to do it.

The young woman there was very helpful. When I turned down her offers of credit cards and frequent buyer programs and things, she asked how often I shopped there. I toyed with the idea of explaining my little mental disorder and that even now that I have Overcome Agoraphobia I only go to the mall once a year, and to her store in particular less than that, because I can only go to two stores before I simply have to leave, and that even so items from her store constitute a third of my wardrobe, but in the end I just said I only went there about once a year. She wrapped my skirt up very nicely for me.

I might go back. In less than a year, even. It was not that bad. I went afterwards to do the grocery shopping and made it all the way through my list, so I felt quite successful. I was not, however, able to go on to the library. It was noon by the time I got all my other errands done, and 75,000 people were watching the local football team play Ole Miss quite near to the library. I had lots more excuses, actually, excuse-making also being a major feature of agoraphobia, but I will not bore us both by listing them.

However, I feel the fact-checking deadline looming, so I may get over there today. I am hoping that the newspaper archive will help me find a good source, as I have been asked to do. I am not that sanguine on the subject, actually, as I have spent a lot of time in online newspaper archives without finding anything a person could describe as "a  good source," but it could happen.

What a day I have ahead of me! My husband wants me to do errands for him in a neighboring town. Since he has, at 4:45 a.m., already left for work, this does not seem unreasonable. However, as many of you know, I suffer from agoraphobia and have an unreasonable response to the thought of running errands in a neighboring town. I had already steeled myself to go to the library to finish my fact checking (scary road), and to the mall, which is a pretty big undertaking. I have not gone to the mall by myself in 15 years. I did go with my boys a mere six months ago, and it seems like a very short time since then. With those two things plus the usual food shopping and post office and such already on my plate, I was probably not as gracious as I should have been when my husband gave me his list.

I also have housework to do. The usual slog, of course, but this is also the last day of kitchen week on the HGP,  so I will be taking down all the pitchers and tea pots from my top shelf and cleaning out all the drawers and cupboards.

Not such a big deal, with cupboards like these two. And in fact most of my cupboards and drawers are in fair condition. I will just need to take things out, wipe the cupboards down, and put things back in.

Fifteen cupboards and six drawers shouldn't take more than an hour. I could get it all done while the breakfast loaf is in the oven or in the waiting times while putting up a batch of relish. #2 son will probably climb up on the counter for me and hand down the pots and pitchers. A minor and satisfying pair of domestic chores.

Unfortunately, there also exist areas like this drawer

and this cabinet.

I know. Places like this should not exist at all. This sort of thing obviously could only result from folks' having merely opened the door or drawer and thrown things in higgledy-piggledy for months. But that is what the HGP is for, after all: bringing our homes back to blessed order and cleanliness before the holidays, in spite of what we've done since the last clear-out.

The Folgers cannisters from before I began buying only fair trade coffee are the perfect things for freezing cookies, and the wiggly plastic things in the drawer are for holding tacos on the plate. And yes I do need all those measuring cups.

This is the kind of thinking that leads to "before" pictures like these. I hope to have "after" pictures that show greater rationality.

I hope also to finish the housework and errands in the morning so that I will have a solid afternoon and evening to work on the wedding present table runner.

Here it is as of 4:30 this morning. I have not yet decided between the narrow green binding and the wider striped one, but I have hours of applique and quilting before I have to commit myself on that. I also have a Netflix or two to watch while I work on it.

It is almost 5:00 now. I know that Xanga thinks it is an hour later than that, but Xanga seems to think that I am on the East Coast. I got up to make my husband's coffee, and stayed up to drink tea and check my email, but I think that I am now going to try to go back to sleep for an hour before I face the day.

A customer told me about a book called Bowling Alone by Robert D. Putnam. I have not read the book, and don't even intend to, because I think I've gotten the concept and no one seems to be suggesting that we read this book for its scintillating wit or lyrical prose or stimulating plot.

But lots of folks are recommending that we read it for our own good. Here's the concept: Americans are losing the benefits of community and networking. There has been a 40% overall decline in community activity in the past quarter century, including everything from neighborhood potlucks to voting. Many Americans no longer leave their homes except to go to work, we avoid human interaction in our daily transactions, and we have become spectators of life. We watch TV for hours every day and know more about the Desperate Housewives than about our neighbors. We go bowling, but no longer join leagues. We bowl alone.

Here's an essay by the author if you want more than just the concept.

He may have a point. Not for me, of course, since I belong to several groups, shop with local farmers and businesspeople, and hardly even watch TV, but I live in a little college town in the rural South. I can imagine someone getting up in the morning alone and going to work, where there is a hurried simulation of social interaction with people who pretend to like each other, driving through someplace for dinner (and I think there are places now where you can "pay at the pump" for food), and then spending the evening with the TV, maybe taking out time for some online shopping. Who will such a person turn to in times of need? Who will they celebrate with? Who will support their ventures, and when will they have the satisfaction of supporting someone else's?

Online friendships are great, and I do feel that Xanga is a community, but those of you that I know only online are not going to throw showers for my daughters, and I am not going to be there to help you turn the heel of your sock. We are not keeping an eye out for each other's kids or borrowing a cup of sugar from each other (though we have had some yarn and book exchanges).

And if Putnam is to be believed, this affects our health as well as the health of our nation. Loneliness and isolation are harming us, and we feel helpless to improve our nation's troubles. Putnam does, however, have some suggestions about what to do about this.

What groups do people still belong to? Religious ones, first. Then about 5% of us belong to something like Alcoholics Anonymous or other self-help groups, and nearly that many to book clubs.

At Chamber Singers last night, we banded together to do something cheering for one of our former members who is struggling with postpartum depression. This is one of the benefits of group membership.

We also worked on a song by Henry VIII expressing another benefit of togetherness. Idleness, he said, leads to vice, so it is better to hang out with your friends. He intended to dance and go hunting and play games, and who was gonna stop him?

Actually, he said "Who shall me let?"but that means the same thing. That could just as well have been his motto.

I find it very cool that we are singing some thing written by ol' Henry. It makes me feel connected to history.

The temperatures dropped yesterday from the 80s to the 50s in an hour, and tonight we are expecting it to go into the 30s. We have pulled out our Fuzzy Feet and our hot water bottles with their little woolen jackets. It is definitely knitting weather, but the wedding gift must be completed before I surrender to the siren call of wool.

The wedding present in question is a table runner in the "Stripe it Your Way" collection of fabrics from Textile Creations. I am basing it on a pattern from Creepy Crafty Halloween, not that anyone will be able to guess that when I finish, and adapting a motif from Laurel Burch Quilts. It is not that I expect any of you to want to recreate this piece, but I know that I always want to know that stuff when I read about other people's projects.

 I've reached the point with the table runner where I'm not sure which way to go. Early piecing is sort of the adolescence of quilts, at least for my quilts. They do not look their best, and it is hard to imagine just how they will look once they have their batting and backing and quilting and binding.

The pattern I've based it on (the one up there with the pumpkins) uses two appliques, one at either end of the runner.

However, the shininess and brightness of the fabrics I've chosen for the wedding present version and the size and elaborate nature of the applique motifs are making me wonder whether it might not be better in this case to use just one in the center. There is still embroidery as well. I don't want to over-egg the pudding and move from festive profusion to excess.

I am bearing in mind that the recipient wears shiny pink shoes, and trying not to retreat from the whole shininess and pinkness situation. I am trying also not to be pressured by time concerns into choosing the quicker option if it is not also the better option. After all, I have broken the process down into steps and written them into my planner for all the available days between now and the wedding, and I know that I will be able to finish, as long as I skip the gym and don't spend too much time reading blogs.

Your opinions are humbly solicited.

#2 daughter started her new job as Music Minister last night with a choir rehearsal. I haven't yet heard how it went but I assume that she did well. Our choir rehearsal was fun. We are doing some fancy stuff for Christmas, including "Now Is Time for Yuletide Glee," a Thomas Morley madrigal which is new to me. Our director's approach is to give the first part their note and then everyone just hares off sight-reading the music as best they can. Considering the level of skill at sight-reading in our choir, the effect is like a bunch of bumper cars. We lose our places and fall out and try to catch back up and then everyone gets back in for the last note. If actually asked to do so, he will allow us to hear the first page played, but I hate to ask every time. He is a band director, and this is perhaps how bands do it. There are so many instruments that I suppose it wouldn't make sense to run through the bassoon part and then add the clarinets and then the tubas and so on. For singing, and especially the singing of madrigals, it is customary to do at least a few lines with the basses and then the tenors and then add the altos and then the sopranos -- not always in that order. But we do not do this. I used to sort of wait and listen and sing pianissimo till I knew what I was doing, but I have discovered that I am no less likely than anyone else in this group to get it right, so now I just plunge in like Alice in the Wonderland croquet game. I would not recommend this to #2 daughter for her choir, but it is fun if you can tolerate the chaos and cacaphony. 

Tonight we must get to the Chamber Singers rehearsal early for costuming, and I have errands to do for my boys this morning. Sleep deprivation is causing me to respond to these extra demands with faint irritation, but I will get over that.

Feeling a bit pressed for time is causing me to think about the idea of obligations. Between now and November 3rd (it was November 4th, but I will now be working on that day, so the deadline has been pushed back) I have to finish the table runner and my fact-checking assignment and get my house clean enough for guests.

That is two and a half weeks, so one would think that would be plenty of time, but there are all these ongoing things, like a full-time job and a couple of choirs and a class and a family and a household and the gym and holidays to prepare for. So it may be enough time, but it is not plenty of time.

So I was looking at my to-do list and considering what could be shunted off to make more room for sewing and scrubbing. Certainly I can toss out all the little challenges I take up just for fun, like the KALs and this month's SWAP piece. And this caused me to think about the virtual and real-world conversations I have been having about obligations.

Now, I am not one who would prefer not to have any obligations and to do whatever I felt like at any given moment. Sure, if I had Jeeves or Bunter looking after me that would be fine. But without certain knowledge that someone else was taking care of everything that needed to be done, I would not be able to relax and enjoy my leisure. I would know that I would be paying for it in the future when there was no food in the house or guests had to pick their way through dirty laundry or the electricity was shut off. The sad, shocked faces of my family when they discovered that I had not made arrangements for all the things I normally do for them would haunt me. I would have to race around at the last minute opening cans to feed guests. I would have to suffer through the entire process of getting back to the gym after a hiatus. I would have to turn out the lights and hide when the trick or treaters came. It is less trouble to do the work in the first place than to deal with the consequences of not doing it.

But it seems to me that we do take on unnecessary obligations along with our real ones. The obligation they have been discussing over at Ozarque's, to do our best to look like women in magazines. The obligation to match the holiday or wedding preparations shown in magazines. The obligation to jump in and help or care for people who might benefit from looking after themselves a little. Competitive child-rearing, conspicuous consumption, and keeping up with celebrity gossip.

This isn't all my own list. I may be The Slave of Duty, but I don't feel ashamed of my lack of knowledge about celebrities. Although I was updated last night on why people are currently angry with Madonna, and as soon as I grasped that it was the singer we were talking about, I was totally in favor of her supporting that orphanage. And grateful to my friend for waiting for me to catch up during the spell where I thought she was telling me about an art-related miracle of some kind.

Okay. Back to scrubbing and sewing.

I just learned that a subscriber skims these posts for the # signs in order to avoid "all the socks and stuff." She just wants "the news." I thought that was very clever, actually. However, there are no more # signs in this post, and there will be socks.

I don't think that I am unusually good at self-deception in most areas, just normally self-deceptive. My favorite example of self-deception is from the occasion when we had a fire at the store. We had a college girl working for us at the time, and she and I were coughing, nauseated from the smoke, and discussing in undertones what we were going to do if The Empress continued to deny the smoke.

"No," The Empress was saying tightly, "I don't smell smoke."

When we could hardly see the back of the room, I suggested that maybe we could just call the fire department. "It might not be our building," I said soothingly. "Maybe we should just have them come and see if they notice anything." The Empress crossly gave in.

Soon we had two fire trucks and men in slickers and boots and helmets in the store, chopping through the wall with axes.

At that time, we shared a wall with a Chinese restaurant, which had a grease fire behind their range. The college girl and I stood in the doorway, gulping in fresh air.

People kept coming up and wanting to shop.

"We're having a fire," I kept saying, aware that it sounded like some kind of special event -- an unusual theme party, perhaps -- but unable to come up with any better phrasing. "Perhaps you could come back tomorrow."

"I just need one thing," they would say, stepping over the fire hoses, "and I know right where it is."

We were adamant. I had been back there with the fire fighters snatching product off the walls before they started chopping, and the hooks were hot to the touch. There was a fire, for heaven's sake. Sang froid is admirable, but there is a point at which it becomes unreasonable.

It is when it comes to knitting that my level of self-deception rises. For example, yesterday I went to buy a Christmas present (early shopper, taking advantage of a sale) at a store that turned out to have on hand some Wool-ease in the fisherman color -- but in worsted, not sport weight.

I bought a skein of it. How crazy is that? You cannot just switch to worsted for the toe of a sock and think no one will notice. I stood there looking at it, thinking maybe it wasn't that much thicker really.

It gets worse. Last night, I came home and knitted a few rounds with it. Even though I had the sock, made in sport weight, right there where I could clearly see how much thicker the worsted really is. I knitted tightly. I guess I was thinking I would just see how it looked. Either that or, having wasted money on this silly shenanigan, I also wanted to waste some time.

I am now thinking about who on my Christmas list might need a nice fisherman scarf or hat.

 Yesterday was the perfect day for the Autumn Reading Challenge. The Challenge was to read five creepy books before October 31st. We had cold, rainy weather at last.

Not that you can't read creepy books in bright hot sunny weather -- I have read two of them so far in the challenge under these difficult circumstances -- but cold and gray is better.

Jamie had recommended E.F. Benson's ghost stories, but his collection is out of print, so I went with Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories, which includes a highly philosophical piece by Benson.

Howling winds would have been a nice touch, but I was so happy to have some distinctly fall weather that I was not going to quibble about a thing like that.

We don't have much color in the leaves yet, but I do like these beautiful bright berries.  I particularly like the way they are intertwined with the last of the honeysuckle blossoms. Once the last bouquet of roses fades, I will cut some of these for the house.

In any case, by the time I got home from church it was seriously raining, and getting chilly as well.

So we made a fire and I curled up in the recliner with my knitting. The guys were watching sports and playing games and my husband and the dogs and the cat all took the chance for a bit of a snooze in the firelight. The picture shows how far I got with the Log Cabin Sock before I ran out of yarn.

This does not bode well for the timely completion of these Socktober socks. They are being knitted of Wool-ease sport weight, which is hard to find in my neck of the woods. I will have to search around this morning and see if I can come up with some. And then of course I will have nearly an entire skein of it left, in case I want to make another identical pair.

Since I came to the end of the yarn nearly simultaneously with the end of the book, I was tempted to begin re-reading Gulliver's Travels for Knitting the Classics, and cast on for something Lilliputian or something Brobdingnagian, those being the obvious choices for a Gulliver knit, but the thought of all my WIPs, some of them having deadlines, dissuaded me. I think that the only way I will get a KTC project done this month is if Gulliver has a log cabin reference or an important sock scene which I have forgotten.

Instead, I returned to The Princess's wedding gift, the WIP with the most pressing deadline.

Speaking of deadlines, I have fallen pretty severely behind on the HGP (Holiday Grand Plan). This is the week for cleaning the kitchen, and my kitchen is in grave need of a thorough cleaning, so I think I will get that done. I have a batch of molasses cookies in the oven (with apple-walnut muffins for breakfast) right now,  so I will have this week's goodies for the freezer. I've been keeping up with the buying of gifts and making some progress on the hand-made gifts as well. But there are areas of the house that did not get cleaned on schedule, I missed the time to buy or make Christmas cards,  my freezer is not filled with things as it should be, and I actually never even looked at last week's list, so I am behind in ways I don't even know about.

Fortunately for those of us who have not kept up with the HGP properly, the second chance -- also known as the Christmas Countdown -- begins at the same website on October 22. This is a six-week compressed preparation, still better than trying to do everything in December.

Not only am I behind with the HGP, but I am not making much progress on my fact-checking assignment either. Neither of these things makes me regret having spent yesterday afternoon with my family and ghost stories before the fire, though. There is always a question of priorities.

  I got through yesterday's to-do list pretty well. The boys are provided with warm clothes, #2 son's fleece throw is completed, many of the peppers have been transformed into salsa, the random errands were done.

Making salsa is enjoyable. This is Jalapeno Salsa, from a Ball canning jar company recipe. Jalapenos are so pretty, like plump little Christmas lights. Fresh peppers make a wonderful crisp sound while being cut, and the smell is invigorating. #2 son pressed the garlic for me, and helped with the stirring, and then there is the satisfying "ping" of the freshly canned goods making their little vacuum seal.

The boys debated whether the blood of a person in a vacuum sealed jar would burst from the body or not. In all the years I canned with my daughters, I do not recall that this topic ever arose.

No baking or housework took place. The Princess's wedding gift took higher priority. 

I had intended to make her a very bride-ish runner in white, sage green, and pink, with trapunto hearts. I saw the effect in The Complete Guide to Quilting Techniques some months ago and immediately thought it would be good for this purpose. I had also seen a set of quilting fabrics with the words "love, honor, and cherish" in those pretty colors, and had it mostly planned out.

But then while I was at the fabric store I saw the "Stripe it Your Way" collection from Textile Creations, and decided to change the plan completely. Now I am adapting a Laurel Burch design to applique, using the lame (that's two syllables, with an accent I don't know how to add) and Indian cotton stripes from the collection. Having learned about TNT (tried and true) patterns during my SWAP adventures, I will be making the basic table runner from Creepy Crafty Halloween, which I used for my autumn table runner, but using the lovebirds applique instead of the pumpkins.

You can see in the picture how much I was able to accomplish during the afternoon -- most of the basic applique for one heart. I have cut and pinned two hearts, but have not yet decided whether to use one in the center or two, one at each end.

Partygirl came over while I was doing the cutting. She sat on the floor with me and pointed out when I needed more green and which width of stripes to use for the next piece.

She also pointed out that this fabric collection matches the dishes I bought for #1 daughter, so I may do a second one of these for her. I intend to do the cutting and machine piecing for the runner this afternoon, and then work on the applique and quilting as opportunities present themselves. I think I should be able to finish in time.

Partygirl and I had a fairly rambling and discursive conversation, interrupted as it was by "Why don't you use the yellow for the beaks?" and "Where did I put that butterfly wing?" and "The red doesn't really show up that well, does it? Maybe I'll use a stripe." At one point Partygirl was lamenting the changes in her figure, now that she is preparing for her fifty-third birthday. "This is the first time in my life," she said, "that I haven't had a positive body image."

Ozarque has been hosting a conversation about how women are pressured to remain young-looking, and Partygirl's remark made me think of it. We were talking about how many young women are so insecure about their looks that they fail to appreciate how pretty they are -- even the homely ones -- just because they are young. Ozarque had at one point bemoaned the fact that men can have signs of aging, such as graying at the temples or "laugh lines" which in women are called crow's feet, without being thought unattractive, while women only get to be thought pretty if they manage to continue looking young.

Actual old women, it seems to me, ought to be able to quit thinking about their looks completely. I suggested this to Partygirl, who pointed out that there is a long distance between our ages and actual old women. A long space, that is, between when you stop looking young and pretty and when you become old enough to quit feeling that you have a responsibility to your audience.

"The granny look," she said, "is not one to which I aspire."

I know the look she means. Here is my great-great grandmother sporting it. Would she have preferred to look more like my paternal grandmother here? Did she ever even spare it a thought? I do not know.

Ozarque said, "Nobody makes us buy 'anti-aging cosmetics' and hair dye. Nobody forces us to buy the magazines that are devotionals for Youth Worship. Nobody makes us try to live on lettuce leaves and radishes and the occasional scrap of dry toast. Nobody drags us kicking and screaming and pleading for mercy into the offices of plastic surgeons."

I don't dye my hair, live on radishes, or think about plastic surgery, but I did just buy an anti-aging potion from #2 daughter, who has a side business of selling cosmetics. It contains alpha-hydroxy acids, and claims that it will give a 50-year-old woman (which would be someone older than me) the skin of a 35-year-old.

Women of 35 are often already worrying about aging and wrinkles, though. I watched a movie while I worked on my applique in which a woman lamented "I went straight from being too young [to marry] to 'What's wrong with you? Why aren't you married?' There was a ten-minute period when I was the right age and weight to marry, but I forgot to set my alarm clock and it didn't happen."

Many of the commenters over at Ozarque's place are younger than either of the ladies whose portraits I have shown you today. Some of them have their pictures displayed (and I confess that I looked at one who claimed to be 36 and thought how much older she looked). Most of them seem to be making the point that women of all ages end up being expected to pay more attention to their looks than the want to. Peer pressure is a key point there. But, as Ozarque points out, no one is making them do it.

Happy Socktober! I am wishing you this whether you are observing Socktober or not, in spite of Sighkey's cautionary tale in yesterday's comments.

Actually, Socktober has taken a slightly sad turn chez fibermom. As I came up to the heel of the second Log Cabin sock, I discovered that I had twisted one of the first cables in the wrong direction. As is always the case with knitting errors, I spent a little time in denial, trying to convince myself that a) no one would notice or b) I could fix it without frogging the whole thing, but by now the yarn is in a sad little pile and I am beginning again. Maybe one pair of socks will be enough for this Socktober.

My to-do list for today is very long, including shopping for clothes with the boys, helping with the madrigal costumes, a trip to the pumpkin patch, groceries, laundry, buying the fabric for The Princess's gift, canning, baking, and sewing, as well as random errands and housework. I had intended to finish that second sock this weekend, but now it may not happen.

Probably there will be no dire consequences if it doesn't.

 We are seeing the first Christmas shoppers at work. These include one of my favorite customers, who came in and bought Christmas Jingo (like bingo, but more educational) after carefully checking to make sure it had no religious elements. He also bought Hanukkah Jingo, without subjecting it to the same scrutiny.

Early holiday shoppers are wise. After years of this, I can tell you that October shoppers are happy and cheerful, November shoppers are still usually enjoying themselves, and December shoppers are frequently stressed and miserable. Since we are just right at the beginning of the whole Christmas shopping thing, I figure we have plenty of time to come to some agreements. Here is my proposed treaty:

• People can refuse to celebrate Christmas either on the grounds that they are not Christian or on the grounds that they are Christians and Christmas is pagan and/or has become idolatrous. However, nobody gets to be offended by the mere fact that someone else is celebrating a holiday they choose not to observe. This includes getting miffed when people say "Merry Christmas."  This applies equally to all holidays, of course, but I never see people throwing hissy fits over random "Happy Chanukah" wishes.
• People can celebrate Christmas without any religious content if they feel like it. Nobody gets to upbraid strangers for doing so. Equally, nobody gets to object to recognition that Christmas is a religious holiday. This is simply a fact, and there's no point in being offended by facts.
• When stores have Christmas decorations and Christmas music before Hallowe'en, or have "Happy Holidays" and Santa Claus and behave as though "Christmas" were a dirty word, you can bet that the workers you actually see in the store are not the ones who decided to do that. Refusing to shop at stores that do this is completely acceptable, but lecturing the staff is not.

This refers only to public undertakings, and in fact I am thinking specifically of shopping. Last year there was a lot of bad behavior around the cash registers, and I see no reason to repeat that. All of the topics listed above make great things to debate over the Thanksgiving dinner, so save it for private occasions. Thank you.

Yesterday after work I dragged my protesting sons out to the garden to pick the last stuff before the predicted frost. It doesn't look very frosty out there this morning, frankly, so we may have been precipitate, but that's okay.

We have a final bouquet of roses and a last dish full of peppers and green tomatoes. I will be making salsa with store-bought tomatoes tomorrow.

I am also planning to make chow-chow. I have not previously made it with green tomatoes, but Blessing was telling me yesterday about green tomato relish, and my check of online recipes suggests that it is very similar.

We were doing inventory. I cannot do inventory for very long without getting spasms in the muscles in my back from sheer boredom, but I can enjoy it for a while, so when I have time, I pitch in and help. Blessing doesn't really like me to do this. She doesn't want to give up any of the counting. However, she doesn't know where anything is, and I know where pretty much everything is, so when she is counting, we have conversations like this:

"Gazillion Bubbles?"
"North wall, second shelf at the end, above Erector."
"Addition Keyboard?"
"Math section, east wall, above the Clever Catch balls."

I don't mind that either. In fact, I am extraordinarily grateful to her for fixing the inventory, which has gotten so far off that it is now a work of fiction, and for not wanting to share the counting. But this interaction gave us an opportunity to discuss how I could use up my green tomatoes, since the frost meant  I couldn't leave them to ripen.

We discussed green tomato mincemeat and discovered that Blessing had never had mince pie. Then we discussed green tomato relish and it was revealed that I had never eaten at The Catfish Hole. A customer sang out, "I'm laughing at you two. You've never eaten catfish and she's never eaten mince pie." She shook her head and walked out of the store. She seemed to feel that we were more to be pitied than censured, but she still didn't want to shop with a couple of ignorant women like us.

Blessing also reorganized my books.

I keep a large stack of books on hand at work. There are my Christmas present books, of course, and then I also have to have a good stock of novels so I don't run out. I have a special shelf. The books were sorted so that one pile had the presents in it and the other had the novels, with the creepy books on top so I could easily buy them for the Autumn Reading Challenge.

She rearranged them according to size.

"Don't mind me," she said, "I have issues."

Fortunately, I have no issues relating to people's fooling around with my stack of books, so it was okay.