It must be raining lightly. I hear drops tapping on the vents, swish of tires on the street. I hope it will fall all day and all night and that I'll wake tomorrow to a dripping, sodden, satisfied garden.

Gretchen and I had a good trip north. On Tuesday afternoon, we wandered around the town's biggest abandoned quarry, then later sat outside on our deck in the oddly balmy air, drank wine with Lulu the chef,  played a couple of games of cribbage, and then I fell asleep like a rock. So my state of health was improved by the time I actually had to deal with kids . . . only a manageable amount of public choking and snorting.

The day went well; students, for the most part, seemed excited and eager; and it was fun to hang out with the teaching crew again. Then back we went to Portland, where Little Chuck awaited, longing for company. Despite his eager joy to see me, he'd been well behaved during his two long workdays alone. I found no giant messes upstairs or down. So for all concerned, the inaugural trip to Monson was a success.

Today I've got housework to deal with, a phone meeting midmorning, a stack of editing . . . the usual demands. The head cold still clings, and I am tired of it. But clearly I am not in charge.