Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy and I put up the rest of the tomatoes and peaches on Tuesday.

(They are my loyal canning companions. It was nice to see them again.)

And then, because I couldn't help myself, I bought three more boxes of peaches yesterday.

I'm out of bottles, of course.

And shelf space.

But it's now or never. There are no more peaches in November. So we're making the most of it. And eating peaches on everything. Last night I had some on my hamburger. Delicious.

In bed last night, as I was drifting off, I remembered my grandmother's peach nectar, a drink so good it makes you feel wicked. And I made a little plan to make some of my own. That thought alone is enough to make me happy for the rest of September.

Which is saying something.

Because September is my hardest month to be happy. (With May the close second.)

It is the interminable month of the year. Back at school full-time, the schedule and the early mornings taking their toll by now. The heat is still oppressive while the rest of the country is getting a respite, and envy is making me crazy. I am so madly jealous of every resident of Wisconsin right now I can hardly stand it.

And so I console myself with Austen and dreams of peach nectar.

And sometimes I feel nearly human. Though I was so prickly with David this morning he may disagree.

Never mind. I am off to drown my regrets in peaches and cream.

Just hope I bought enough.