Muggy, muggy, muggy. Again. Remnants of Fred have made their way north, showing up as intermittent rain for much of the day. You can practically hear mosquitoes breeding in the garden. Not complaining; I got the rain I was wishing for, although maybe the wishing was a little too much. The new normal in these parts has become wetter this time of year, given the increase in hurricanes off the southeast coast. Our local climate change scenario looks soggy. And hot.

It’s performance evaluation time at work; I spent most of the day trying to write about how great I am so that my manager actually knows what I do. After all these years, it gets only marginally easier. Late afternoon and into the evening I transformed a mountain of tomatoes into only three half-full yogurt-sized containers of deseeded, deskinned tomato meat. I’ll be grateful for the meager pickings come winter when the country’s current tomato shortage starts becoming evident in outrageous prices for canned tomatoes and pizza (!), compliments mostly of California droughts. News of the plummeting water levels in Lake Mead aren’t helping. The country’s largest reservoir, dammed Colorado River, supplies water to 40 million people in the West. A paucity of tomatoes will soon be the least of people’s worries.

A handful of friends and family members are going through rough times. I want to wave my magic willow stick and fix everything. Feeling empathy for them and grateful for my life, while also wondering what’s coming next. It’s not good for sleep to think about these things before bed.