I slipped home just in time, between storms, and thank goodness, because last night's was a doozy--high winds, battering rain, and it's still brawling this morning. Creeks trickle through the basement; Sunday's beautiful thick snow is a swamp of slush. It's an ugly sight, but at least our power has stayed on, and the basement creeks haven't become a lake--yet.

The storm is supposed to wind down mid-morning, but the flooding will likely continue for a while. So much sudden snow melt: it's a mess, and today is Tom's birthday, and we have dinner reservations tonight . . . but if I have to suddenly change plans and make stone soup, so be it.

Yesterday's class went well, though I didn't have much to do other than hang out with the kids because we had a young journalist with us all day as a presenter. For the next session, though, P will be up from NYC, and he and I will concoct a big scriptwriting lollapalooza. And then the kids will enter the land of revision, which will carry us into the spring.

One thing I learned when I was up in Monson is that our new Conference on Poetry & Learning is starting to fill. That is making us all happy. Do let me know if you've got questions about it, or if you'd like to be considered for a scholarship.