Yesterday I edited in the morning, shoveled snow at noon, spent the afternoon Christmas-shopping with my kid, came home and got a brisket into the oven, and lost two Scrabble games in a row to the boy (an exciting development; I feel like one of those old lions toppled from my throne by the brash young up-and-comer). Christmas-shopping, while not painless, was certainly improved by actually having a place to Christmas-shop that isn't the trifecta of Amazon, Walmart, and the Bangor Mall. The whole "buy local" thing is a pretty specious idea in Harmony. I could buy everyone bar-and-chain oil for their chainsaw. Or a can of baked beans. Or some windshield wipers. But when you live in a quaint seaside city, you can actually stroll down a street and locate a used bookstore, a fine vintage clothing shop, a well-stocked kitchen store, an Italian market, and seafood, plus a place to eat lunch that isn't Pizzeria Uno. It's weird. Paul and I found it strangely pleasant, and we both hate shopping.

I will point out that, despite its decorated tugboats and cute caviar stores, Portland has a distressing problem with homelessness. There are many, many people sleeping in doorways in this cold town. "Buying local" also means walking among misery and not giving away all of your money to people who need it. That is a bad feeling.

Anyway, today: More editing. Cookie baking. A meeting of my poetry group. I have no idea which poem to bring tonight. There are too many choices.