In the middle of the afternoon, as Paul and I were watching college basketball, a banner floated across the TV screen announcing that Maine was speeding up its vaccine schedule. Within an hour I got a text message telling me that I'm eligible to make an appointment. So on March 30 I'll be getting my first shot, at the mass-vax clinic  at Scarborough Downs racetrack. Tom can now also make an appointment, and Paul will be able to get his by mid-April.

The Biden team has done unbelievably good work with this rollout. It's the most impressive government action I've ever witnessed. I am beyond grateful.

Slowly, slowly, the stones are slipping from my shoulders. In particularly happy family news, Paul has been offered a theater gig for next January: to serve as assistant director for an off-Broadway production at the Mint Theater. It's a short job, but it's real work, and at a prestigious venue, where the staff already knows and likes him. (He had a fellowship there during his junior year.) If he can parlay this into other gigs, he'll be on his way.

So this morning I'm feeling as calm and hopeful as I've felt for a long, long time. Now the sun is beginning to reach its fingers across the roofs and yards, the temperature is starting to rise, and today spring will burst open. Purple and yellow crocuses are budding, eager for a breath of warmth. I've got a load of towels churning in the washing machine, and in a few minutes I'll haul them outside to the lines, and while I'm hanging them in the cold morning air, a cardinal will sing and sing.

The times they are a-changing.