Well, things are much less springlike this morning. After a day of rain, the temperature dropped to 9 degrees and the wind rose to gale level, and now our front storm door is frozen shut and the back storm door was frozen open and banging back and forth in the bluster until Tom and I got up at 3 a.m. to deal with it.

But the electricity is holding strong, and we have heat and hot coffee, though Tom says today will stink at work because a lot of very large windows are being delivered, and there's nothing like carrying very large windows in a very large windstorm. I hope this won't be a Three Stooges episode.

In good news, I drafted a new poem yesterday, one that I'm quite happy with, and on a day I didn't expect to be writing. And in other good news, I had a very enjoyable day with my son who (1) told me that the mushrooms I made were the best thing he's eaten for a long time, (2) enthusiastically played his part in one of our improvisational goofball dramatizations and then said, "I think we're becoming co-dependent," and (3) was co-delighted by a very sweet spring-training moment, in which the radio announcers did a play-by-play of a young pitcher's mom reacting to her son's very first performance on the major-league team ("Okay, now she's going out onto the concourse and fanning herself. . . . ").

Today I guess I'll try to do the stuff I didn't do yesterday while I was writing, like get ready for my high school classes and read some Millay poems. Tonight is my Bootleg Reading Series event, and maybe I'll see you there.

Stay warm--