#1 NYT bestselling author Linda Lael Miller


While I was out for an appointment yesterday, cousin Mary Ann filled the house with fat, lovely dahlias in pink and yellow–splendid zinnias in clusters–a glorious sight to see. We’d been discussing the state of the flowerbeds earlier–an embarrassment of riches, you might say–and in that take-charge, do-something way she’s always had, she started filling vases. Upstairs, downstairs, billows of color and shape and texture of the sort that only God could design.

A plentitude of any one thing–in this case, flowers–seems to attract more of the same, in some strange universal alchemy. For no reason at all, except that she thinks I’m a ‘peach’, my long-time agent and friend Irene Goodman sent me a bouquet! Star-faced yellow lilies, interspersed with pink roses and a carnation or two–wonderful. As Irene is wonderful.

I’m fighting the flu today. Sadie-pie is her old bright-eyed self, though she’ll be on her meds for a while, just to make sure.

We have sunshine and heat here in Spokane, but the flowers and vegetables are starting to wane, and I can feel autumn in the air. It is a time filled with pleasant memories for me–bonfires, the approach of Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas, all of which were very distinct from each other when I was a child–less so now, I think. But that might be a misperception on my part. Who knows.

I’m having internet problems again, so I’m going to post this now, in hopes that it sticks.

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