I’m happy to sleep in my bed again, next to Maria. I understand that my brain is still healing from the fall, so I write something: rest, go out, and then rest again. The big trouble comes when I leave my head up towards the sky to take a photo; the world starts spinning. I’m ready for Monday’s surgery on my left foot; it’s scheduled for 7:45 a.m.

Early rising for the hour-long drive to Saratoga. We always stop for breakfast in Schuylerville and pesto egg sandwiches on the way to see Dr. Daly. My car has new breaks; we stopped to get Amish cookies and fudge for the nurses there.

It’s supposed to rain again tonight, and some high winds are expected,  so I went out a little early for my afternoon photo shoot. I hope you enjoy them, and thanks again for your good words to me.

People keep urging me to sell my used and signed books to make lots of money. I should explain why that will never happen.

I have no interest in doing it, and as someone who has written 26 books, I can testify that none of my used or signed books worked to sell or raise money.  That old publishing idea died for most mid-level authors years ago. That’s not how I wish to spend my time. Thanks for the flattering thoughts, but I live in reality, not wishful thinking.

Used books are not helpful for most people in elder care or for fund-raising for refugee students. Older people read digitally and don’t generally read books, which are hard on their eyesight. Refugee kids don’t buy hardcover books, used or signed, or anyone else in 2023 except for influencers on TikTok.

People are always urging me to write books again; I try to gently explain that I’m not writing books because my books stopped selling. Publishers always favor younger writers because they will write many more books than somebody my age. Publishing is a Darwinian business, which I love and am grateful for. But I’m glad I moved on, and I cherish my blog.

I don’t want to return, and nobody wants me to return. That’s as honest an answer as I can give. My blog is my book, my living memoir. It’s more than good enough for me.

We are getting the people the help they need; I don’t need to jump into the online marketing chaos.

I’m not interested in being a bookseller, making t-shirts, selling my photos, or opening a trinket store. I have what I want and need; I don’t want more; that’s the American disease. And good people will always help me assist the vulnerable and the needy. Asking for support does not mean that I am desperate or unhappy. Neither is true.

I need to be paid for my work that some people enjoy. It’s really that simple.

So far, I haven’t had to turn down anyone from the Mansion or the refugee community who has asked for my help or the support of the Army Of Good. If that should happen, I will find other ways to help than pending my discarded books.

My late afternoon visit with Zip. He looks pretty serious and loves my camera. My camera loves him.

Zinnia grazes too

Last gasp, Lisianthus drowning.

The last Nasturtiums

Small flowers, snowflake flowers

My red arrow flowers