Outside, there's a thin layer of new fluff-snow, with more coming in tonight. I don't think we're going to get significant accumulation, but the timing will be bad for driving, so I suspect we'll be postponing the Monson class. 

I had a lazy weekend: not one single brisk walk, so much couch-sitting beside the fire. Still, I got things done: most importantly, I worked on a poem, whittling down "Russian Novel" from eight lines to four, and I'm quite happy with how it's evolved. Plus, in between actual writing and reading, I did a bunch of niggly writing-business things, the sort of stuff it's hard to find time for in regular work hours. Tom was out most of both days, making frames for the photos he'll be showing in March, so I had long chances to wallow and mull, and I took them.

Eventually I did manage to get off the couch and do the shopping, and for dinner I made a Portuguese seafood stew--one of our very favorite meals . . .  real Rhode Island linguica; homemade fish broth from the freezer; last summer's kale, also from the freezer; fat and beautiful Casco bay mussels; Gulf of Maine haddock. Such riches.

Today will not be a couch day, no matter what turn it takes. Either I'll be editing all morning and driving all afternoon, or I'll be editing all day and not driving. But at least I have my little poem and a lot of leftover seafood stew.