Yesterday was one of those days when everything I do seems to be proof of my fecklessness. Some days all I do is stumble into door frames and kick table legs, literally and metaphorically. However, I did drive to Paris Farmers Union without getting into an accident and did purchase a bottle of coyote urine, which is something that perhaps you have never done. Apparently groundhogs and other vegetable snackers do not like coyote urine. I know I don't, but we'll see about Sassy.

I managed to move a stack of editing off my desk, so today I'll be reading poem manuscripts and maybe even thinking about my own. Weirdly the temperature is supposed to stay in the 60s, after giving us nothing but high heat for weeks, and I am looking forward to making something for dinner that isn't a cold salad. I may also be getting ready to can: that bean crop is ominously large . . . unless the Sassy Groundhog takes a notion to harvest first.

But what I really need to do is buy a new laptop. Mine is ancient--a 2008!--and is doddery and difficult, and too old for updates, and incites email confusions and misdirections. How I long for a nice little rosewood lap desk, such as Charlotte Bronte describes (but please no drug-addled brother, dying sisters, poisonous graveyard, or beastly book reviewers).