Thanksgiving is next Monday here, and the public health officials can't quite bring themselves to discourage family reunion dinners. "Don't eat with anyone you don't live with", says the Medical Officer of Health, while the official provincial guideline says "No gatherings of more than 10". How many households comprise as many as 10 people? In today's Ontario, vanishingly few.

We accepted an invitation to dine with Himself's brother and family, including The Nephew and girlfriend who live (and work in public-facing service jobs) in St Catharine's, and now Himself is wrestling with the risk. I am willing to go, but Himself is not sure. I believe that he's afraid the visitors from St Catharine's will (unwittingly and unwillingly) infect me. I told him to make the decision soon, preferably today -- somebody has to be the bad guy, and he's the one with the doubts.

The next sunny day, probably Friday, I must get out with the secateurs and dead-head the flowers, especially the hydrangeas, although I see lots of them fading away in other people's gardens. The August drought claimed one of our shrubs, a species known around here as "burning bush" for its fall colour, and I shall take down most of it with the secateurs and a pruning saw, leaving the roots for Helena the Garden Goddess and her shovel-wielding minions. Apart from that, I'll leave the plants to take care of themselves; so far, they're good at that.