Yesterday turned out to be more scattershot than I'd hoped: possibly my brain was tired from all of the intense poem concentrating. Eventually, though, I settled down and got started on a sewing task I've been avoiding--making a set of new masks. We've been using the ones we have for so long that they're starting to wear out. I don't have a working sewing machine, so I had to search for a pattern that would be easy to hand-sew--e.g., something other than the pleated ones, which have thick layers of material that are a challenge to punch through. It turned out to be easy to find a simple pattern for a shaped mask, so I dug into my box of fabric scraps and cut out all of the pieces yesterday, and now I have a basketful of sewing to keep my hands occupied during baseball games.

Today I think Tom is planning to finish the new walkway, and I am planning to dust and run errands, and Paul is planning to sleep late on his day off. I might get started on that essay I didn't get started on yesterday. Or I might go on a long walk and not think about poems. I'm feeling vaguely achy from yesterday's flu shot . . . nothing major, but maybe enough to shift me out of diligent writer mode into stare-at-the-sky mode.