I slept well last night but am still feeling a bit tired and stiff. You'd think I'd gotten the vaccine, not Tom. For whatever reason, my body needed an off-day, so I gave it one yesterday--skipping my exercise class, for the first time since December, and taking a small nap in the afternoon. We had an all-day rain, so that made resting easier.

Today the sun is supposed to come out, though the air will be cool, and I am going to prune roses. The rain brought out the daffodil shoots, and hyacinths are budding, and crocuses are everywhere. I am anxious to spend time with them all. And my seed potatoes have arrived! I need to get more soil before I can plant them, so that's an errand for today, along with grocery shopping and driving Paul to work. Unfortunately he has a day shift, so we won't be able to watch our favorite basketball team together. We are on the Loyola Chicago bandwagon, mostly because their star looks like someone's goofy, out-of-shape dad but is in fact extremely good. Also he is learning to play the harmonica and is terrible. We find this charming.

Tom is pleased because he finally has a weekend when he isn't (1) working for someone else or (2) doing our taxes. Maybe he will watch the basketball game with me.

What else is going on? I don't know . . . um, let's see, I drafted a poem titled "Pandemic Field Notes" for a land-trust-related anthology, worked on my editing chore, talked to my mother on the phone, invented a vegetable soup, beat Tom at cribbage, mopped the kitchen floor, forgot to make a vet appointment for the cat, watered my houseplants, ate some leftover macaroni-and-cheese, changed the bedsheets, read an Iris Murdoch novel, thought about Frost Place planning, threw the cat outside because he was clawing up a chair, talked to my Chicago son on the phone, drank a lot of tea, despaired over my unruly hair, wore an ugly sweater, dragged trash to the curb, made up anthropomorphic stories about birds with Paul, and wished I had cake.