Happy April! . . . and here we are again, waiting for another snowstorm to arrive. Maine weather is so obstinate. It's not clear how much accumulation we'll get in Portland--I've seen claims of six inches; I've seen claims of a foot. Whatever happens will be midweek and sloppy; and, in the meantime, the crocuses will pretend they know nothing about it.

I'll be swamped with editing this week. Though I have hopes of getting one of those manuscript projects off my desk before we depart on our travels, I may end up lugging it along with me. Ah, well: I already knew this wouldn't be a vacation, merely work in a different setting. That's how my trip to Chicago will be in May too; I'll have to zoom-teach one afternoon from my kid's apartment, and I'll probably be working on the train as well. Such is the romantic life of the freelancer, dragging her snail-shell behind her.

In addition to all of the editing, I've got lots of teaching prep to juggle: for the high schoolers, for an upcoming zoom class, for the teaching conference. Sometimes I wonder how I keep anything straight in my head. It's like an ant nest in there.

But we had a calm weekend . . . a special meal, with lamb from our friend's Vermont farm and some remarkable lemon custards: very simple--just cream delicately thickened with lemon juice, topped with fresh raspberry sauce; in the morning, a brisk and muddy walk around Mackworth Island; in the afternoon, the springtime music of baseball on the radio.

So I will gird myself for my exercise regimen, my laundry pile, my stacks of computer files, my litany of poems and prompts. It's Monday, and it's April Fool's Day, and my Chicago kid will probably send me a joke, and the cat will claw at the furniture, and crows will quarrel in the maples, and a breeze will kick up road grit and the scent of sea salt, and here I am alive, and I'd better make the most of it.