Tom and Paul went canoeing on the Muddy River in Brunswick yesterday, so I was home alone from mid-morning till dinnertime. I washed floors and a few windows; I read residency applications and a chunk of my friend's novel manuscript; I copied out Rilke poems, and revised one of my own. I watered the garden and ran the trimmer, tied up the swooning sweet peas, and sat in the chilly sunshine drinking a beer and reading Mary Karr's memoir Cherry. I picked a pan full of fresh spinach and arugula. For dinner I made calzones filled with fried cherry tomatoes, a little bacon, fresh garlic chives and basil, and provolone.

The boys are cogitating about the possibility of a family canoe trip through the Allagash. Apparently they are also taking over-under bets on how many books I will attempt to bring along.

This morning, clouds sit low over the roofs, and fingers of fog stream in from the bay. But I don't think we'll get any rain, which is unfortunate as the soil is drying out and our water bill is skyrocketing from all the irrigation I've had to do. I don't know what my plans for the day are, other than cleaning the bathrooms and talking to Teresa about Rilke. Maybe Tom and I will go for a bike ride or a walk, though I do have a giant blister on the ball of one foot. I'll cook a chuck roast for dinner, make some kind of salad that thrives on new cilantro.

This is Paul's last week of school. On Saturday he graduates from college. And then he'll begin to figure out what might happen next in this gap year that nobody wants. The future looks murky. My sentences are choppy. And so are our thoughts.