It’s fig season again

In my burgh, it’s fig season. I have 2 trees, and between workplace diplomacy and a neighbor with a ladder, lots of figs have been used up. I have a bunch waiting in the refrigerator, and I’m hoping they stick around long enough for a fig and almond cake. I made a good lot of fig jam (in the refrigerator). And, sadly, fig processing and knitting are not compatible (unless I want to hand-dye everything an amazing color of purple-brown). Also, some of the yard work I’ve done lately has banged up my fingers, so beyond fantasizing about getting a pair of socks done, not much knitting right now. Many books are being read in the meantime.

I finished up a Laurie R King book: The Language of Bees.

I’m now onto 3 others — an Edith Pageter book about Czechoslovakia, W. Somerset Maugham’s Cakes and Ale, and an Alexander McCall Smith mystery (set in Edinburgh). So far, Edith is winning. I haven’t quite figured out what the Maugham book is all about, other than making me think I’m reading unfunny Bertie Wooster (hopefully it will improve once I get used to the narrator).


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