It was a balmy seven below at 3:45 a.m. when I got up to take my son to the airport this morning. Today is going to be a tough one stamina-wise. This afternoon I'll be traveling two hours north for a New Year's Eve band gig, playing from 9 till midnight, and then driving 40 minutes to Wellington in the exhausted dark. I'm just hoping I can hold myself together, and find a way to take a nap somewhere in the interstices.

For now, though, I am awake and slowly working through stacks of laundry. Yes, that's the sound of a functioning washing machine and dryer you hear. And maybe you also hear the refrigerator humming and the kitchen range clicking on. If only we had running water in the kitchen, this place would be a palace.

I guarantee that tomorrow morning I will not have the wherewithal to write to you, so I'm wishing you Happy New Year now. May your evenings at home be sweet and joyous, may you read many books and listen to many songs, may you linger outside in the crisp air, may the Red Sox avoid trading Jackie Bradley, Jr., and may Trump and his posse get dragged off in paddywagons.

This morning it's eleven below at the Alcott House, and we have a new sink (without water) and a new range hood (without a stove), which means that yesterday Tom had to torture himself by going outside into the cold and cutting a hole in the kitchen wall while I was torturing myself among the sale-starved crowds at L. L. Bean. But we both survived, and now the range hood is in, and now the boy has a warm coat and warm boots.

Today, we'll get a stove and a washing machine, maybe even cupboard shelves. For the moment, however, the cat and I are sitting quietly in the living room watching the wood fire leap. I am going to copy out a couple of Levine poems this morning and do some housework and take a trip to the bank. I need to practice a few songs for my show tomorrow because, yes, I will be playing a New Year's Eve gig in frigid Dover-Foxcroft, where it will get down to twenty below or so. Wish me luck and thawed fingers.

Twelve below in Portland, Maine! This feels like Harmony weather; it was never so cold here last winter.

I've just come inside, after a brief flurry of suburban chores: e.g., putting the trash and recycling beside the curb. I did also carry out ashes and bring in firewood, which gave me the illusion of doing actual chores. But really: this residential-neighborhood lifestyle is awfully cushy: a furnace that goes on automatically! electrical outlets in the kitchen!

Yes, we do indeed have electrical outlets in the kitchen . . . and a working refrigerator. No sink or plumbing yet, but a fridge and lights feel like a significant advance. Today Tom will install the stove and make the washing machine functional. Clean towels! Baked potatoes! Such luxury!

Yesterday the place was swarming with electricians. Though I'd like to imagine it will be swarming with plumbers today, I'm not holding my breath. I think a kitchen sink will be a 2018 innovation.

In other tasks: I might send a poetry ms to a contest today. I might not. I definitely have to take the boy clothes-shopping before he leaves for Chicago. Also I have plenty of reading to do. Yesterday Tom brought back a truckload of goods from storage, including a single box of books labeled "Biography F-J." It appears that my subject matter this week will be very structured.

A row of cabinets/temporary countertop without doors or sink hole but with functioning coffee grinder and electric kettle.

Dining room with stack of unpainted doors, work coat, and jumble of undistributed stuff. But at least we have a candle.

Living room decorated with furniture, fire, giant box, and self-satisfied cat.

Refrigerator with Elvis and gift magnet from son. I actually think my cat is a Republican.

We're home.

The temperature outside is four below zero, with a high of six forecast for the day. But the little house is snug. Last night we basked beside the woodstove, and in a few minutes I will light it again. Miracle of miracles, the electricians will be here at 9 a.m. to turn off the power while they install a new fuse box and finish installing outlets. Thank goodness for wood heat.

I am amazingly happy to be here. Last night I could hardly sleep; I was too excited. The cat is also thrilled. He can't stop running up and down the stairs and yowling happily into corners. After a three rooms, even a small house is a mansion.

It's too dark to take photos for you, and anyway everything is topsy-turvy. But all is good.

This morning I got notice that Vox Populi has published my long poem, "A Duet for Uncle Paul." Many of you followed the research behind this poem. Some of you heard it at the Frost Place. One of you, my dear friend David Dear, was instrumental in its genesis, revision, and performance. And so here it is, finally, in print.

I should say that the published version does not include my original indenting; apparently, WordPress can't handle the format. And even beyond that small blip, I am not entirely happy with this version. I think it's a bit flabby and awkward, possibly saccharine in spots . . . though the power of sentimentality is, in part, the point. But it's in the air now, and I can trim and tug at it, eventually.

And I still have that new poem I wrote yesterday morning, which is hidden in my pocket like a gold piece.

* * *

Tomorrow is moving day, and we don't yet have the wifi hooked up at the new place. So you may or may not here from me again soon.

Christmas morning in Amherst, Massachusetts.

The snow is sifting quietly through the white pines, down onto the huge bony rhododendrons, the carpet of dormant pachysandra. I am the only person awake.

Yesterday morning, as I drove back and forth at sunrise, the first lines of a new poem leapt into my mind, a celebration poem, a poem of happiness. It has been a long, long time since I last had the sensation of pure joy pouring through my imaginative life.

I don't know who or what gave me that Christmas gift, but I am honored and grateful.

Love to you all.

Yesterday Tom and Paul lugged Tom's gorgeous custom cabinets from shop to house. And the new sink arrived in the mail--but with a dent in one side. And our next-door neighbor shoveled our sidewalk. And I had to drive the cat to the kennel through an ice storm. And the boys and I had a beautiful noodle-soup dinner at Honey Paw.

As you can see, the day had its highs and lows, but mostly highs. Tom began installing the cabinets and cogitating about a stopgap refrigeration strategy. I tacked up temporary bedroom blinds (e.g., big clean dish towels) and hung a temporary bathroom door (e.g., a shower curtain). Now we are both awake at 4 a.m. on Christmas Eve, no doubt because our brains won't stop clicking and clacking about everything we need to do before we can leave for the holiday. I have more carloads of stuff to drive over to the house this morning; Tom has more kitchen stuff to do. Ah, the spirit of Christmas.

I will try to remember to take some photos of the cabinets for you. In the meantime, I send all of you my best love, with hopes that you have a sweet, peaceable, and comic holiday.