September Saturday.

We are just back from Western Mass, where we went for 24 hours to visit friends in Connecticut, eat too much at the Big E, and make some money off our junk at Mike's parents' friend's annual yard sale. We came home to the last of the tomatoes promising to be done this week with fresh beer in tow. I am so grateful that the weekend is hardly halfway through; Mike's going to a pick up Tchoukball game (don't ask me what that is), so the day is stretching out before me with possibilities. I'm thinking macadamia waffles, brunch with Meg, a walk to Whole Foods for my favorite chocolate milk, then sewing up my very first Scout tee. I finished the muslin on Thursday night semi-successfully and it's been blue balls all weekend waiting to get back and make the real deal.

Something about September every year feels like coming home, and this year is no different.

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