We have a bit of a weather reprieve today: 20 degrees above zero, sunshine, and a much happier Ruckus. Tomorrow, however, life returns to normal--this time in the form of an ice-snow-sleet-rain morass. Considering the height of the snow piles in my yard (10 feet high, I'd guess; maybe more), this could be a terrible mess.

For now I will try to forget all that. The sunshine is casting blue shadows on the fresh snow, the chickadees are whistling their spring songs, the cat allowed me to sleep in till 7 a.m., today's sinus headache has already retreated, and my writing room is clean and bright. I will make a potato and egg curry tonight, and stuck-pot rice, and maybe even chapatis, if I can juggle my boy obligations appropriately.

I have a friend whose response to this dreadful winter is to madly reread the late novels of Henry James while exercising at the gym. If I had a gym, I might do likewise, though I'm thinking that a glut of Faulkner might better suit my moment in history. In any case, like my friend, I will try to keep trudging and/or flailing. You try too.