Sorry to be so late with this letter: I slept badly all night, and then in the predawn fell hard asleep till 7:30. Thank goodness for Saturday mornings.

Now I am showered and warm and waiting for coffee, and the sun is shining in through the spotted windows. In a little while I have to do the grocery shopping that I procrastinated on yesterday, but otherwise the day is mostly unstructured . . . a telephone chat with Donna, chicken and avocados for dinner . . .

I am very much enjoying this slight respite between editing jobs. I worked on revisions yesterday, did a bit more local, stroll-to-it Christmas shopping, boiled beets for borscht, went for a long walk with my neighbor, talked to Paul on the phone, and set out a few Christmas decorations. Great news: Tom has fixed the leaky shower and the unflushing toilet, and I have three active poem drafts. Plus, Paul wants to take me to see Daniel Craig in Macbeth in April, and James's best childhood friend from Harmony is visiting him in Chicago. Life at the Alcott House is pretty cozy, even though the furnace might be making a funny noise.

Tomorrow afternoon I'll be back on the clock, starting the first of three chapbook sessions. So today I'm looking forward to spaciousness. And I'm really, really happy to be writing so well. I know this will end, that I'll plummet back into mess and confusion. But right now I don't have to believe in that.