Every once in a blue moon, I take a photo that is not half bad; one that looks the way I see myself when I look in a mirror. Most of the time my reaction to seeing myself in a picture is Oh my god am I really that homely??? Thank goodness that's not what I see in mirrors; but then, none of our rooms have good lighting. A lot of my women friends feel the same way about their own images. And I can't blame my case on my aging face and body; even in my youthful prime, I looked like shit in pictures.

Here I've just gotten out of a nice soak (never long; I get too warm and then weak) and am ready to go with Pat, Scott's mother who is also a good friend to me, to a potluck with the Likeminded Ladies. We are supposed to go in Halloween costume but mine are buried somewhere in the after-flood chaos of this house. I'm taking an apple pie instead and hope that will get me through the door. I can be the photographer.

That's Emil's arm on the chair behind me. He likes to hang on it and look at me, close-up, and chat. I hate the way the chair wiggles and wobbles, but haven't been successful in getting him to balance himself on something else -- the desk, for instance.

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