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I have three blank squares on my calendar—three days with NOTHING scheduled! I *think* I could finish this neverending novel this week. I spent some time restructuring my outline last night, and eliminated one of the 7 remaining chapters by shifting its content to completed chapters that needed a bridge. In September I wrote just under 11K words—several thousand words short of my 15K-word goal, but “good enough” (as my grandpa would say). My main goal for today is to hammer out another chapter and then visit the garden without coming home with something sweet. ‘Tis the season for curling up with a cup of tea and a slice of pie, but I managed to make it out of the farmers market yesterday with three misshapen apples instead of three cider donuts. Last week it was warm and humid; I went back to wearing summer clothes and then halfway through Wednesday the weather turned. I went straight to Whole Foods and looked for something sweet to have with my tea once I got home; I found chocolate macaroons, which made me think of my grandmother who was the queen of baked goods and used to make those for us. I have one macaroon left so that will be today’s treat. I’ve already had one cup of tea and yesterday I picked up my first tin of Milo. I’ve been thinking of my ancestors lately. If I ever finish these young adult novels, I’ll go back to The Hummingbird’s Tongue and trace my love of sugar back to its origin—the trans-Atlantic slave trade, sugar plantations in the Caribbean, and all those immigrants from the British Isles who brought their recipes (and addictions) with them to the Americas. I’m tempted to bake butter tarts this week (a Canadian delicacy) but know I’d just eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My cholesterol is down six points so I’m trying to be good—or better than I normally am about baked goods. The photo above is of my great-grandmother and her parents. I don’t generally have much interest in my white ancestors except to note that most of them look dour and are known to have mistreated my grandmother for being mixed race. The folks on my maternal grandfather’s side of the family look nicer—and there’s Jenny, my Irish-Canadian great-grandmother, seated on the left. She was a big woman and so many of us inherited her genes and her fondness for sweet treats. Most of my uncles and aunts are diabetic and so that’s something else I need to keep in mind as I scarf down cake every Friday. Last week Joaquin was whipping us with wind and rain but I made it over to Weeksville Heritage Center to meet with a wonderful group of students and professors from Penn State Altoona. The students are developing projects for February’s African American Read-In, and wanted to tour some sites in New York City that have defined the African American experience—Weeksville, the African Burial Ground, Seneca Village. We talked about immigration and what it means to build a home in a place where you’re not wanted…then I raced over to The Weeksville School and shared Dayshaun’s Gift and my other books with the assistant principal. I love sharing my books with kids, but there’s something special about seeing an educator’s face light up when she sees a book she likes. I’m looking forward to presenting there this fall and writing with middle grade students at my residency partner-school MS 584. There won’t be too many blank squares on my calendar this fall so let me get out of the house and over to the garden. There are too many stories I need to weave today. And tomorrow—and the day after…