Another massive windstorm is brewing this morning, and Tom couldn't get the roof leak fixed yesterday (borrowed ladder was too short), so I've got a dishpan under the wet spot and am hoping for the best. At least we won't have snowmelt exacerbating the situation this time. But these storms are worrisome. Last Tuesday's really tore up the coastline, and this one may be even rougher.

I had a busy day yesterday: bustling up Route 95 for a morning band practice, then hurrying home for an afternoon zoom meeting with my poetry lab friends. Teresa, Jeannie, and I had all been reading the same book, Dayswork, by Chris Bachelder and Jennifer Haber. Set during the pandemic lockdown, it centers around a woman who becomes obsessed with penetrating into the mysteries of Herman Melville's life. It's a fine book--an amalgam of novel, poem, and research notes--and the three of us were very excited about it, given that we're all constantly succumbing to the lure of obsessive mysterious discovery. 

So it was a good day, very social, but in different ways . . . the morning spent with musicians working out multipart backup harmonies, a strict and concentrated focus, the exactitudes of pitch and breath; the afternoon spent chattering wildly with poets about whatever was popping into our heads.

Today, hunkered down during the storm, I'll need to spend some time reading play scripts and talking with my son about how best to present them to the Monson Arts kids. The two of us will be team-teaching the next class, and it will be an odd but I think fun situation for both of us. He'll be the featured guest artist, the expert sharing knowledge, and I'll be mentoring him as a teacher, offering guidance about planning and class management. But of course we are also mother and son, and we can't avoid that dynamic. We've got to play it up to our advantage . . . and also not annoy each other. I'm not too worried: we have an easy relationship, and we can say what we think to each other. Still, as a teaching situation, it will be complex. And it's a big deal for him: to be stepping into a role as a paid teaching artist at a prestigious arts center. He's got the jitters for sure.

Except for the storm, it will be a quiet day: reading, studying, napping, folding laundry; maybe doing a little more organizing/cleaning/shedding-of-possessions in the basement; concocting a casserole of leftover chicken, wild mushrooms, and wild rice for dinner. Wish us luck with the leak.