Home again, to discover that the boys, on their very first overnight alone in the house, actually made several hot meals for themselves plus washed all the dishes afterward. All the animals were fed, and nothing caught on fire that shouldn't have. I'm so proud.

The Belfast Poetry Festival was a real pleasure: so interesting to hear how other people tackled the problem of collaborative work. Afterwards, Tom and I drove to Rockland, ate a beautiful dinner at Primo's, and stayed in a B & B across from the ferry terminal. We drove back to Harmony this morning, making comfortable personal comments about road signs and wondering if Maine's entire population of porcupines had been run over by cars. And now, despite the porcupines, I feel refreshed and more or less ready to go back to my regular life of laundry, vacuuming, boy driving, and bread baking. But while I was away, I did not read one single word of any novel whatsoever. To tell you the truth, I didn't even care. So if you want to hear anything about books, you have to wait until tomorrow.