I'm sitting here drinking my coffee and trying to whip up enthusiasm for jumping into garden chores at 6 a.m. There's another hot day on the horizon, and I've got a lot of work to do outside--cutting down perennials past their prime, dead-heading flowers, thinning and weeding--before the heat becomes unbearable. Early morning is my window, and I'd better learn to like it.

T may be out there with me. His project is moving firewood from the outside stack into the basement . . . because, yes, it's true, it's really true: he's getting ready to start renovating the shed. I am very excited. No more terrible red eyesore shack! Instead, a snug little urban barn, silver-roofed and sided with cedar, with a teeny sliding door and bright little windows and a cunning little woodshed. The cuteness may kill me.

I forget if I told you that tonight I'll be reading on zoom, in virtual New Jersey, for the Poets of the Palisades Series: 7:30 p.m. ET, alongside the poet Gary Metras. There's an open mic, too, so bring your own poems to share.

And shed a tear with me for those hangdog Red Sox, who lost 28-5 last night, and deserved to. The boys are having a bad, bad summer.