I went out yesterday evening to get a flu shot, and came home with a flu shot and a Covid booster. I didn't even know I was eligible for a booster yet, but the nurse was enthusiastic, so now I have two band-aids instead of one. So far, no untoward side-effects, other than a slightly sore shot arm. But if I collapse later, I  will have plenty of couches and tea to sustain me.

The weather was gorgeous yesterday . . . bright sun, low 60s--a fine day to stroll out into the neighborhood and be surprised by the world. The other day I passed two masons fixing someone's front stairs while also listening to recipes on the radio. That is the kind of surprise I like.

It was a good day, mostly, even though it was mostly a desk-work day. Round about noon, I got an email from the poet I'd asked to write a blurb for my new book, and it was so generous that I started to cry. I never know how to handle these things; I am always overwhelmed.

Now it's raining a little outside, and I am getting ready to hoist myself into another routine day, but something, I'm sure, will make me jump up and say, "What? Wait a minute! What is this?"  Something always does.

The other night, for instance, I was so enchanted by my own warm house that I couldn't stop taking pictures of it. The Alcott House may be plain and unfinished and have a history of electrical craziness, but she does have many sweet charms.