Sorry about the lapse in posts. (1) The power lines got hit by Irene. (2) I got hit by the flu. However, both troubles have been weathered, and we are back. Our only significant hurricane event was the loss of a big maple tree, which crushed a rosebush rather than my car. This turned out to be especially fortuitous since last night James inadvertently punched a stereo speaker through the back window of his car. Baby's first car disaster. And, as car disasters go, a nice safe one.

Meanwhile, I am feeling much better: drinking coffee and wiping down counters and prompting Paul to brush his teeth just like a regular, everyday mother, rather than lying weakly on the couch and saying, "Oh, no, I'm fine," whenever some large boy face swims into my vision to ask if he can make me a cup of tea.

Meanwhile, I have been reading Woolf and Milosz and Byatt. I do a lot of reading when I'm convalescing, though I wouldn't be able to pass a test on any of it. Yet reading as hallucination is not necessarily the worst approach to literature.