Because the April 19 session of "Poems of Defiance, Poems of Love" filled so rapidly, I took the (for me) unprecedented step of scheduling a second session of the same class. It will take place on Saturday, May 3, 10 a.m.-3 p.m. ET on Zoom, and will cost $75 dollars. Amazingly it, too, is beginning to fill. So if you are toying with the idea, do sign up ASAP because I'm pretty sure I won't be offering a third one.

Clearly something about the class description has touched a nerve. We're wrestling with helplessness, even as we're clear-eyed about what's happening to our nation. It will be good to be together, talking and mourning and working.

**

I thought I'd be waking up to another snowstorm, but so far there's only a dusting out there. Still, schools everywhere are closed in anticipation, which means the roads should be quiet, which means T shouldn't have much trouble getting to work. But this will be the second Thursday storm in a row; I've already missed my writing group twice (once when recovering from my snow odyssey up north), and I fear tonight will be the third time. I guess we'll see.

Valentine's Day is on Friday, and T will most likely forget it. That used to hurt my feelings, but now I just think it's funny. Plus, his forgetfulness gives me the opportunity to celebrate in whatever way occurs to me. Yesterday, for instance, I discovered that mussels were on sale at the fish market, so I made us an early Valentine's dinner: a big batch of mussels steamed in wine, lemon, garlic, and butter; sourdough toast; a warm Greek salad; lemon-poppyseed poundcake. I still can't get over how sweet it is to cook in this dear little kitchen, everything so tidy and bright and convenient. T will forget Valentine's Day, but the kitchen he made is a valentine itself. Every time I use it I feel loved.

It's a silly holiday. But so what?