Hey, I'm spending an entire weekend at home, and I'm not teaching or performing or anything! And so far Saturday is off to a great start: fire in the stove, coffee in my cup, Chuckie on the hearth rug, Tom fast asleep in bed.

I feel much livelier than I did yesterday at this time and am looking forward to dealing with a big batch of homestead stuff over the next two days: pruning and clearing in the garden, stowing outdoor furniture, washing down kitchen shelves, getting rid of construction dust, harvesting chard and kale. I'm also looking forward to reading and writing. Yesterday I was able to get back to the Sappho project and added three more poems to the manuscript. I'm still working my way through Dos Passos's U.S.A. and have made a small dent in Berryman's Dream Songs. I might watch the Bills play the Ravens tomorrow afternoon. I need to acquire some Halloween candy today and figure out how to direct kids away from the unusable front door to the less visible side door.

I could add a host of other this-and-thats as well; but though this to-do list may seem ambitious, it's really mostly puttering. In truth, I'm just looking forward to messing around with my own stuff, bumping shoulders with Tom as he messes around with his projects, greeting young Chuck as he interferes enthusiastically.

A sunny cool day in the little northern city by the sea. Blue sky. Half-bare trees. A bright wind.

I am so tired that I can barely think in sentences this morning. So pardon any oddness in this post.

We had a packed house. We got a standing ovation. It was a great night. We had so many friends there. Tom took me out to dinner afterward and I could barely keep myself from sagging against the wall as we ate. Walking back to the truck felt like walking through deep snow. Did I brush my teeth before I went to bed? Possibly.

Now I have to gather my strength to haul trash and recycling to the curb. Ugh. Even making coffee was hard. I feel like I've been run over by a street sweeper.

How do performers go on tour? Or show up for a Broadway gig every night? Jeez.

Well, I expect I'll become less limp as the day advances. But it's been a long couple of weeks.

The show itself, though . . . performing in front of that sweet crowd was tremendous.

When I walked into the house after 10 last night, I was glad to find T curled up on the couch watching the World Series. I figured it would be my last chance to see baseball for the season, and so it was. The Brewers won the series the convincingly, playing a lovely old-fashioned version of small ball--not relying on home runs but on an onslaught of base hits that got them onto base and then running. I like a big blast as much as the next person, but small ball is fun because it is busy--always something happening on the base paths: hitters teasing pitchers, pitchers teasing hitters, base stealers, pickoffs, swanky double plays, and then a tiny defensive error that lets the runners explode.

But now the games are over, and I will tuck my baseball habit into hibernation for a few months. Outside, in the darkness, a train hoots. Inside, Chuckie loudly crunches up some chow. A new fire shimmers in the stove.

I'm a little bit sleepy. I was out late, and went to bed late, but got up at the same old workaday time. Maybe I can snag a nap this morning before the afternoon odyssey begins. Last night's tech rehearsal was mostly for lights and sound; the performers hung around doing nothing and were cold and slightly grumpy, which is, I think, a typical description of tech rehearsals. But this afternoon that will change: we will be in the throes of cue checks and walk-throughs and run-throughs and nerves. The space is gorgeous and is professionally staffed, which is a huge help, but it also has peculiar sound and light issues and a very hard floor, all of which affect us in different ways. So I expect we'll stumble into some challenges during rehearsals.

Still, it's been fun to be on the performance circuit. I haven't done much of it since the days I was playing fiddle with Doughty Hill, and I do enjoy the excitement of hanging out with a troupe in one odd situation after another and figuring out how to get the night's job done. Constructing a performance is so different from standing in front of an audience in an open room. And practicing for a music gig is nothing like playing three sets in a crowded bar . . .

. . . and in between sets stepping outside into a winter night, coatless because you're so sweaty from playing so hard. The relief of that sharp air. The camaraderie of the smokers who surround you. You're a stranger but you just played a fiddle lead on "Wagon Wheel" so they love you. Another hour to go. You take deep breaths of cold smoky star-speckled night. Your bare arms prickle. 

Temperatures have dropped into the mid-20s this morning--our coldest day of the season, so far--but a fire crackles in the stove, and the house is snug.

Today is our younger son Paul's 29th birthday . . . so hard to believe we've known and loved him for almost three decades, so hard to imagine our world without him. I went into labor with Paul during an ice storm, and his birthday always seems to mark a turn in the weather. "Deer season starts this weekend," my friends up north remind me. Time to dig out the orange hats. Time to change the clocks. Time to watch the snow fly.

Yesterday I baked a couple of loaves of rye bread and a pumpkin-buttermilk pudding. I cleaned bathrooms and caught up with grocery shopping. I went to the Y, and went for a walk, and talked with my performer friends, but mostly I spent the day alone, which was good. This evening the flurry starts up again--tech rehearsal until 10 p.m., then run-throughs tomorrow afternoon and our performance tomorrow night. So I'll spend the day finishing up the weekly housework, prepping for next week's Monson class, walking, maybe raking leaves, trying to snag a bit of rest before the attack of tech.

Hey, I'm home again!

T and I did stall a bit, spending the morning at the Harriman Point Preserve, a gorgeous, very quiet spit of woods and beach reaching out into Blue Hill Bay. On our walk we watched at least a dozen (and maybe many more) harbor seals cavort in the cove, by far the largest number I've ever seen in one place. So that was a gift and a delight.

Eventually we did make our way back to Portland, where I set myself up for a late-afternoon zoom meeting to talk with arts commission and MWPA contacts about how to design sponsored laureate projects, how to prepare for grant applications, etc. All such advice is hugely helpful to me as I know nothing about how to design and administer these kinds of big endeavors. I can teach or facilitate all day long, but the minutiae of funding is always a mystery. Now, at least, I've got some step-1 instructions, and when things calm down for me in November, I can get started on that.

I think I'll go out to my strength class at the Y this morning. I need to grocery-shop and do housework and otherwise remind myself how to run a household. I hope to take a walk through the cemetery with Teresa,  and catch up with paperwork, and water my houseplants, and maybe even sit down and read a book.

I'm so glad to be sitting by this wood fire right now. 

Here are a few shots I took yesterday of our environs. That's our cabin there at the top, a charming little architect-designed plaything--cute, clean, warm, comfortable; a sweet perk amid all of this busyness.

I write to you from my chair beside the gas fire. Outside a barred owl hoots; inside my roommates slumber  on, though I imagine they'll be awake shortly as we all need to hustle back to daily life this morning.

Yesterday's performance was fun, nerve-wracking, exhausting, exhilarating, just as you might imagine. We had a good-sized crowd, and apparently the upcoming show in Portland is sold out, so it seems that people want to see this thing, which is bewildering and gratifying in equal measure. I can't quite get used to the idea that I'm constructing in this sort of context. Though I've performed publicly for most of my life, I've never made such a piece before, or worked in this way with a group of other people. So I haven't really known what to expect. What we received yesterday was concentration and curiosity, and who could ask for more?

Hello from the little cabin. We haven't been here in daylight, so I don't have any photos for you, other than one I took yesterday afternoon from the dock in Blue Hill. Four of us are tucked up in this little house, and Tom and I get to sleep in bunkbeds like the kids. The other two of us are up the driveway in a one-room cottage. It's all very cute and sweet, and we feel lucky to have been offered such nice housing.

For the moment I'm the only one away (as usual), and I'm perched here with a cup of coffee on a hassock beside the gas fire, almost replicating my usual morning routine. The sun is just rising and I can see a strip of coral sky through the trees and a glimmer of salt water below.

Later this morning the performers will head out for rehearsal, T will wander off to take pictures, and the afternoon show will happen, whether we're ready or not. I expect we'll have an audience: a lot of people came to yesterday's poetry readings. These midcoast festivals are very popular: Belfast was busy too, last week. It's nice to know so many people are curious about words.