Well, here I am, not driving to Vermont, at least not yet. I've postponed until tomorrow and will reassess the situation then. In conversations with my sister she told me flatly not to drive over the Green Mountains in the rain because the roads are in such dicey condition after the past couple of weeks. So that made me feel somewhat less babyish about the prospect of traveling in a giant rainstorm.

Yesterday was filled with distraction and annoyances . . . chimney guys on the roof all day, hammering and grinding brick, etc., which is not conducive to desk work in any way. And then my ten-year-old car didn't pass inspection on account of rust--not wholly a surprise but irritating anyway. The mechanic assures me that it's not dangerous to drive, so I don't need to scrap the Vermont trip. But I'm still going to have to pay a lot of money to a body shop, and we're already paying a lot of money to the chimney guys, and we just paid a lot of money to an arborist, and there are more big bills ahead, and I don't know when we'll ever feel financially stable. It's just never going to happen, I guess.

But enough of that kind of gloom. The rain sounds lovely on the windows, and I will make soupe au pistou for dinner tonight--a summery French soup filled with kitchen-garden vegetables and herbs. There will be blueberry buckle for dessert, featuring the last big picking of berries from my bush. I'll work at my desk with no chimney guys clomping overhead, and I might transcribe a poem blurt or two out of my notebook, and who knows?--I may even take a rainy-day nap. Tomorrow either I'll drive to Vermont or I won't, but the weather will not be my fault, and I won't feel guilty if I don't get there, and life will go on without me.