I would love to live in a climate where basil seeds itself and comes up the next year on its own! But, of course, that would mean putting up with sweltering summers ... Hmmm. Perhaps growing it in a pot is not such a hassle after all.

The kitchen contractor came to visit yesterday with his favourite electrician and his lead carpenter. By the time they left, I had decided to abolish the dining-room light fixture altogether in favour of a row of pot lights all across the back of the house, from the loo past the pantry and the back door, through the kitchen, and across the dining room. To accomplish this task, the ever-so-60s swirled plaster ceiling in the dining room will vanish behind a layer of plain old drywall that will be painted plain old white. Nobody with any brains does drywall work on a ceiling over a brand-new hardwood floor, so the floor installation must be postponed. Why does I feel as if I'm planning Operation Overlord? Perhaps because this project has almost as many moving parts.

Himself left town for the week to hang out with another retired legal officer transformed into a small-town barrister, and then to attend the annual Criminal Law Association in Toronto. The weather has turned sharply colder and the leaves are tumbling off the trees by the heap, but I'm just going to let them lie there until he gets back. The compost-turning doohickey he ordered from Lee Valley Tools arrived yesterday, and I think he's looking forward to concocting the optimum mix of grass clippings, leaves and kitchen fall-out. Just as well; yard work is not my favourite way to end up with an ache in my lower back. Besides, the ironing basket is an ever-renewing resource for which I seem to be responsible. I'm cool with that; ironing doesn't involve rain down the back of my neck or cold hands.