Yesterday I celebrated 25 years with the same publisher. The thrill of the sale and publication of my first book will always be with me, even now after all these years.

What is a joy for me is to watch the many talented authors who are just starting out. One new author to watch is Geri Krotow, whose first book is currently on the stands. Look for Rendezvous To Remember, a November title from Harlequin Everlasting Love.

I'm heading to New York City early Sunday morning.  I love visiting The Big Apple, especially this time of year when the autumn colors are in full display and the air is crisp.  It doesn’t hurt any that some of my favorite people in the whole world will be there.  Naturally, I’ll squeeze in a bit of shopping and more than one fabulous dinner, and a friend managed to get us tickets to the hottest play in town—“Jersey Boys.”

When I get home I’ve got to put my nose to the computer screen and work, work, work.  I have the feeling my readers would be upset with me if there was no 8 Sandpiper Way next September.

My granddaughter, Maddie, and I share a birthday, which just happened to be yesterday, October 22. 

My daughter told me Maddie woke up in the wee hours of the twenty-second and with gusto shouted “I’m eight!”  I’m here to tell you, my friends, I slept through the entire night and didn’t once think to toss aside my warm covers and declare to the world how old I am. It must be an age thing!

My two eight-year-old granddaughters, Maddie and Bailey, spent the night with me Saturday.  Tradition insists that we take a luxury bath with bubbles, scented water, bath oil beads—the whole nine yards.

It just so happened that on Friday I had a medical procedure done on my spine.  Unbeknownst to me the attending physician wrote his name on my backside.  When the girls found it they were aghast to think that some man had viewed their grandma’s behind.  (If the truth be known I wasn’t all that pleased about it myself!)  After racing out to tell their grandfather the horrifying news, both girls dutifully erased the offending name using body butter.  The moral to this story is, never let a doctor with an ink pen close to your butt!

Wayne is nervous, and with good reason. I'm making an appearance at Renaissance Yarns in Kent, Washington, this afternoon. Any time I'm in the close proximity of a yarn store, Wayne knows there's trouble. I simply love to buy yarn. In addition, knitters are my kind of people. We can chat all day long. I did promise my wonderful, patient husband that I would use restraint . . . as best I could. As a reward, I'm treating him to his favorite dinner . . . in a restaurant. I don't have time to cook--I'm knitting!

I've been working on my knitting lately, finishing up a number of small projects and getting ready to knit others.  I finished the socks for my son, added the fringe to an afghan I knit for my brother, did the last of the beading work on a scarf project, and finished up two hats.

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is known as the Yarn Harlot, and I know exactly what she means.  I hate to admit it, but I’m one, too.

I have a number of really wonderful projects all ready and waiting to be knit.  They’re neatly arranged in my yarn room, patiently waiting their turn.  Then some fancy new yarn will catch my eye and I decide I can’t live without it.  I buy the yarn, lavish it with attention, show it off to my friends, and turn my back on those waiting projects in order to start something new and wonderful with that new yarn just like a . . . well, a yarn harlot.

Have you ever had one of those days in which everything went wrong?  And I do mean everything!  That happened to Renate, my personal assistant, and me yesterday.

I had an appointment in downtown Seattle, a visit with the fine people at Amazon, and Renate graciously volunteered to drive me.  We decided, because it was such a beautiful day, that we would take the ferry.  The schedule was perfect—only we had the summer schedule and not the winter one, so the ferry took off twenty minutes later than what we’d planned.  Thankfully, we had some cushion in the timing so we weren’t overly concerned.  A phone call to our hosts assured everyone we might be a few minutes late.

Then, while I was reading the driving instructions to Renate, she missed the freeway exit.  We took the very next one and became totally turned around.  Okay, we were momentarily lost in the big city in the International District.  Eventually we found our way and with our hearts pounding, pulled into the parking garage.  Naturally we had to circle to the very last floor before we located a spot.  With time ticking away we raced up to the lobby where we were to be met, only to discover we were in the wrong building! We tore out of there and raced to the correct one, which thankfully wasn’t far away.  We crashed into the lobby like wild women, gasping for air, our eyes darting in every direction for the woman who was to meet us.  After I caught my breath I had a wonderful time.  It was just one of those days.

Speaking of chocolate, my friend Christina Skye brought me the most unusual chocolate I’ve ever tasted.  The small Vosges Haut-Chocolat bars came with detailed instructions on how to eat, savor and enjoy this treat—I swear I’m not making this up.

First off you start by taking in three giant breaths—they even suggest you find a quiet, secluded place for the tasting.  The instructions go on to suggest rubbing your thumb over the chocolate to release the aromas.  Close your eyes and breathe in.  Then, at last, you are to break off a small piece and gently place it on the roof of your mouth and let it dissolve slowly, savoring the unique blend of flavors.

That said, I followed the instructions to the letter for my first taste.  It was fabulous, everything Christina had said it would be.  Then I gobbled the rest of it up.

I have the most wonderful readers and some of the most responsive, too.  When I returned from South Bend and Knoxville late Friday afternoon, I discovered that Pam and Barbara, a mother and daughter, had mailed me three Cadbury dark chocolate bars to replace the one Wayne ate.

Remember, these chocolate bars are for medicinal purposes to aid the healing process following my surgery.  They said two of the bars were for me and one for Wayne.  I read my dear husband their note and decided to keep all three for myself.  After all, Wayne owes me one.   (Okay, okay I might share.)

Tennessee is known as the Volunteer State. If I understand this correctly, the term goes back to the time of the Alamo when a large number of men from Tennessee volunteered to fight. From what I can see, the tradition continues.  I'm in Knoxville as part of the Literacy celebration and have been touched and encouraged by the dedication of these volunteers. Knoxville is experiencing summer-like weather.  Yesterday it hit 91 degrees.  I brought autumn clothes.  That's OK; I look good with a sheen on my face.

I'm in Knoxville, Tennessee for the annual East Tennessee Writers Hall of Fame literacy event, which will take place the evening of Thursday, October 4.  I flew in on Monday from South Bend, Indiana.  When you’re trying to fly from one small town to another, sometimes you hear, "You can't get there from here.”  But indeed I could, thanks to small commuter planes. I’m looking forward to meeting as many readers in the area as possible.  A Books-A-Million signing has been added for those who can’t make it to the literacy event.  Come see me at 12 noon, Thursday, October 4 at the 8513 Kingston Pike store in Knoxville!