It's 10 degrees out there this morning: genuine Maine cold in a winter that hasn't had much of it. And it's Monday again, and a short week again as we're heading south on Thursday for a few days of party. Today I'll finish up some housework, and then a friend from the homeland is planning to drop by and we'll go into town and do some shopping and walking together. I've got two birthdays to celebrate on Friday--T's 60th and my future daughter-in-law's 29th; and of course NYC is its own celebration and we will be going out for a big family meal in Brooklyn that night, but still I want to search out a little token for both of them.

Maybe this afternoon I'll get a chance to work on my Monson planning. If not, that's tomorrow's job, sandwiched between a visit with another friend and a desperately needed haircut. It's going to be a peculiar week: clattery and people-oriented, dotted with obligations and and chatter, and all of my work hours popping up at weird times.

Anyway, I slept okay last night, so that's a plus. The laundry is under control, and the houseplants are watered. I've got enough leftovers and vegetables to pull together something interesting for tonight's dinner--maybe along the lines of sheet-pan wild rice with chicken and eggs and roasted tomatoes. I'll get on my mat this morning, and I'll get the vacuuming and mopping done, and I'll try to organize a few NY details, and then A will arrive and I can relax into dear familiar homeland talk.

I feel like my mind is scrambling in a thousand directions at once, but such is life this week. The big family trip was entirely my idea, so I have to hold up everyone's end. Yet Ray won't be there to greet us . . . and he had been so happy about the prospect of this visit: celebrating P's play, the Chicago kids flying in, T's parents there as well . . . a big family embrace and he'd planned to be smack in the middle of it. But alas.