. . . and this morning I'm only an hour late in getting this note out to you. One of these days my timeline will return to normal. It's been a long time since I've slept so late for so many days in a row. Usually, even on vacation, I'm wide awake by 5:30. I can't even blame the late rising on the magnificent new mattress, since it all began at Tom's parents' house. I guess my clock has decided to stop.

In any case, here I am, back in my accustomed couch corner, with my accustomed white cup and saucer, and my accustomed black coffee. The cat is cruising around the house, trying to distract me by being bad. He hates and despises vacation. In his view, I should be at his beck at every moment, not off gallivanting, and when I return from any trip he tries to impress this upon me via spontaneous biting, furniture clawing, counter jumping, and other lively activities.

Today will be a catch-up day: groceries, housework, exercise class, and such. Our neighbors kindly shoveled our driveway and sidewalk while we were in Massachusetts, and I want to do the same for another neighbor who's still away. This is such a friendly enclave, and I need to hold up my end.

Tomorrow, once I fill the shelves and vacuum up a week's worth of cat hair, I'll go back to editing. Probably I'll also go out to the Thursday evening writing salon. The drafts I've started in that circle have not only cohered quickly into finished poems but are also rapidly being accepted for publication. Something is clicking for me in that setting, and I should keep at it.