We have ordered a Christmas present for ourselves: our first new mattress in 25 years! Since we moved from Harmony, we've been sleeping on the floor, without even a bed frame (because Tom had built our previous one into the room so we couldn't bring it with us), and I have been waking up stiff as a 90-year-old every morning, thanks to the lumps and bumps of what was always cheap junk. We're getting one of those it-comes-in-a-box-via-FedEx fancy foam sorts that thrifty yet comfort-driven James recommended to us, and Tom has promised to build a frame, and not procrastinate about it, and I am extremely excited. Imagine: I could sit on the edge of a bed to put on my shoes! Added bonus: I might not wake up at 2 a.m. groaning about my aching hips! It's all so thrilling.

A non-leaking shower and a real bed. Things are getting pretty fancy around here.

This afternoon my chapbook class begins, so this morning I'll putter around doing this and that to prepare for a long session in the zoom chair: double-checking my class plans, doing laundry, stretching my legs on a walk. According to my dream diary, I spent last night driving around "in an enormous van" and dealing with issues that were "Kind of about homeschooling. Kind of about car racing. And model airplanes." I hope I learned something.

Now, at first light, as I drink black coffee, and listen to the furnace grumble, and consider the branchy shadows silhouetted against the paling sky, I find myself agog, again, about our miracles of ease and swiftness. Soft beds. Hot water. Airline travel. Just a week ago I was ice skating in Chicago, and now I am home again, in a little house with window glass and a tight roof.

You must be sick of my constant amazement.