I got home around 3 p.m. yesterday afternoon, dealt with the noisy and offended cat, sat outside with him in the garden for a while, and tried to read Anna Karenina, without much success. I was tired. So when T texted from Amherst and said he was just leaving there but that we should go out to dinner together, I was relieved to have a plan to that would let me off the immediate hook of doing anything useful. He showed up around 6, and then at 7 we walked arm in arm around the corner to our local and had a really good meal of mussels and porkchops, drank rosado from fancy glasses, and eavesdropped on the French-speaking family in the booth behind us, who were saying things like "Alors! Ketchup!" 

We were glad to be together again.

And now the week begins again. I will have some bits and pieces of editing to deal with, but mostly I'll be focusing on Frost Place prep. My big tasks this week are to reread faculty collections and write intro essays for their readings, but I also have three tons of laundry to wash, grass to mow, groceries to buy, etc. And after 500 miles in the car, I need to get back into my exercise groove.

Tomorrow night we're going out to see one of our favorite bands, Yo lo Tengo, at the State Theater, so I'm excited about that. Thursday night I hope to be writing with my pals. This weekend I'll be home, home, home. There's much to look forward to.

And I've been thinking a lot about that over this past weekend: what a difference it makes to have something to look forward to. Whether you're very young or very old, the joy of anticipation looms large. Without it, life can seem pretty pointless. I do not want to forget this lesson.