Fourteen degrees this morning, so twice as warm as yesterday. Hello, spring!

I'm glad it's Saturday. The week has felt endless, one crisis after another, world-level ones and heart-level ones, and meanwhile I've been trudging up and down mountains with rocks in my backpack. My son James called yesterday and was talking about how cranky he's been to people who don't deserve it, how he suddenly realized that the weight of the planet really was on his shoulders and that he'd better go off into his corner and give himself a hug. I know just how he feels.

But he and I did cheer ourselves up by spontaneously planning a summer adventure together: he's thinking of driving from Chicago to Toronto, and I'm thinking of flying to Toronto, and then we would hang out there for a few days before driving to New England together. Possibly we would meet Paul there too, when he finishes his canoe-camp job in northern Ontario. Possibly Tom could find some vacation days to spend with us. All of our ideas are soft-focus but they are making us feel better.

Today I've got to do some website prep for next week's Polish poets class. There are still a couple of spaces open, if you're interested. I will say that the poems we'll be reading and discussing are stunning in their aptness. Living with them in my head this week has been cathartic . . . not easy, but transformative. I'm anxious to talk with you about them. I'm anxious to write alongside you. Do remember that any level of experience with poetry is the right level of experience. This class is for people who need to dwell with their feelings and ponder among words. Those are the only criteria.