Yesterday's high temperature was 19 degrees with a brisk wind: straight-on winter in spring lighting. Even my garden enthusiasm wanes in such weather. So instead of going outside, I revised poems and submitted poems to journals and talked about poems with my friends and, in short, didn't do much else besides poem stuff. It felt a little like eating candy all day.

Today, grocery shopping and a Frost Place meeting and maybe some outside chores, if the wind abates. Paul and I have filled out our March Madness brackets and are looking forward to a spell of basketball excitement. And he's decided we should cook an Irish dinner tomorrow night--something we've never done before. I have spent a lifetime being indifferent to Saint Patrick's Day, but these days we'll take any excuse for a party . . . though I draw the line at green beer.

Teresa and I are considering setting aside our Millay project, temporarily, and embarking on an Odyssey reading together, using Emily Wilson's new translation. Though we are very much enjoying the Millay, we're allured by the thought of wallowing in Homer. Between the two of us we probably own ten different translations of the Odyssey . . . a weird addiction to share, don't you think? So the idea of reading this new version together has got us all het up.