The morning had that proper September bite to it, the first one where I really wanted the heavier blanket back, so I took my coffee to the step and sat with the neighbor’s cat, who has apparently decided I’m worth the appointment. She doesn’t even come for the company — she comes because I’ve started bringing a bit of whatever’s around, and today it was a little shredded chicken left from dinner. We sat there until the sun got the frost off the grass, and I decided there are worse ways to start a day.
This afternoon I finally dealt with something that had been needling me for weeks: the drawer where I keep the good dishtowels, which had somehow become a chaos of half-folded cloth and the occasional stray tea towel that doesn’t match anything. I pulled them all out, refolded the ones that deserved it, and set aside a small pile to give to the neighbor, who I know would rather have them than see them ignored. It’s a tiny thing, but there’s a particular satisfaction in a drawer that closes without a fight, and every time I open it for the next month I’ll be unreasonably pleased with myself.
While I was folding I kept thinking about how much of keeping things straight is just having a system you can trust, even a small one. I’ve been using that same instinct to stop losing track of what I’ve changed on the computer — before I alter anything I care about, I take a quick “before” snapshot, and on a Mac that’s as easy as Cmd+Shift+3 for the whole screen or Cmd+Shift+4 to grab just one corner. A copy, a picture, a note — it’s the same habit as the drawer, the same as the chicken on the step: you put a little order in early so you don’t have to hunt for it later. The towels are folded, the cat has gone home, and the evening is settling in quietly. I think September and I are still getting along fine.