5 a.m. Grey daylight, open windows. Still and sticky air. Overhead, a gull wails a long fading mournful cry. In the maples, a cardinal announces himself: chirk, chirk, chirk. Upstairs, the box fan murmurs.

Today will be hot. I'm glad I made lemon ice cream yesterday, and I think I'll put together a chicken salad to go with it . . . maybe Greek flavors--olives, peppers, feta, lots of mint. There's still a fair amount of shrimp and corn salad left from last night's dinner, but I expect T will pack it for lunch. We are in salad days, here in the little northern city by the sea.

I didn't quite finish the editing project yesterday, so that will be my morning, after laundry and dishes and exercise. Then errands; and then, I hope, some writing.

Teresa and I are starting up our Donne homework again, after a short hiatus. Back to work, back to work. Already the autumn is looming . . . teaching schedules, travel.

In a few days my older son turns 29. When I was 29, on that day 29 years ago, I was giving birth to him. And, still, everything about that day is so vivid. And here he is, a man. And here I am, still myself. Yet also someone I never expected to be.