Sunday Chores.

Fifteen dollars out 40 at the Farmers Market for nearly a full banker's box of Cherokee Purples and well more than half a box of Mountain Prides ought to make for so much tomato sauce that we'll have to give it away. Add that on to a solid pot of coffee, a visit to an open house where the house had already been sold, a backyard cleanup, and the removal of every other floorboard in the entryway of the rancid shed — and the discovery, finally, of the standing water that we hope is making the rancid shed rancid — and let's us call this a full and thorough Sunday.

We're still hot here, and the tropics are still roiling south, but the 10-day is starting to perhaps maybe show hints of fall. It's surely not time for the yearly ordering of winter watchcaps, but that time's edging nearer. What do you want out of an early fall? Final revisions of a first book. Fits and starts of a second. Hints of the kind of weather that would make you think about jeans, about wearing socks. The kind of light we got one more time today as the afternoon cooked off into evening.

Do you want highs and lows? The official ANYLF guess lands us mid-80s and mid-60s, and though the outside afternoon ablutions ended up hot as hell, it still feels like we're on the waning side of summer, the waxing side of what comes next. Maintenance may be the way to go in the coming months: priming and painting anything that moves, scouring gutters, reclaiming the landscaping, sweeping, scraping, brush removal, and the replacing of those removed floorboards. Tarp's still on the roof. Other storms are coming, but Fay's still here. We've got all manner of things to do. Somebody ought to make a list. Somebody get me a pen.