Some days my freelance life is a jumble--hours spent circling aimlessly, waiting for a reply to a query before I can move on with a project, and then suddenly the reply arrives, but late in the day, when my mind has already turned away from paying work and is focused on home obligations . . . so by evening I am wondering, What the hell did I get done?

And thus today, when I thought I would be mostly concentrating on housework and errands, I will instead be cramming in editing hours . . . which is fine: it's a typical freelance situation, one I am so accustomed to, but it's always a drag. What I want is less hysterical flurry in my life, not more.

Well, anyway. So be it. A fat morning of editing, and afterward I'll get done what I get done. At least the laundry can churn while I check files.

Last night, as I basted a pork roast, Tom installed another batch of finished cabinet doors. The sudden sleek quiet is startling. No more under-the-sink clutter staring out at us; instead, an expanse of polished fir, silken to the touch. These doors are heavy, elegant, magnificently plain. The kitchen, always beautifully functional, is becoming a showplace. It feels very strange to possess such a room. (Fortunately, hideously inept bathrooms and dog-eared vinyl siding keep us grounded in reality.)