Home again, home again, and here to stay till Christmas weekend. Yesterday's class was so fun--three different handmade books, a room full of busy, happy kids, the pleasure of watching another great teaching artist at work--but I am really pleased to be stepping into ten days of unstructured space.

I have things to do of course: today or tomorrow, registration will open for the new Monson Arts teaching conference, so that will be a flurry. I've got work to do on The Poetry Kitchen setup. But I'm also going to have plenty of easy time for reading, writing, walking, planning, cooking, gazing out the window . . . I am so looking forward to these days.

Naturally there will be chores--exercise, housework, shopping, meals. Today I've got to bumble through all of those tasks, but also I'm hoping to meet friends for a walk on the beach, to curl up under a blanket with Oliver Twist, to imagine how I might fill the books I made yesterday.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes,

And when in act they cease, in prospect, rise:

Present to grasp, and future still to find,

The whole employ of body and of mind.

All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;

On diff'rent senses diff'rent objects strike;

Hence diff'rent passions more or less inflame,

As strong or weak, the organs of the frame;

And hence one master passion in the breast,

Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.

--from Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man