This morning the temperature in Portland is 5 degrees above zero, but the Alcott House is a balmy 66. Praise to the furnace guys, who rescued us in the nick of time. We're still dealing with a bit of soot from the kitchen duct, but otherwise it's all mod cons around here.

Young Charles is somewhat disappointed with this high life, as he loves the wood stove. Yesterday he kept suggesting that I should light it so he could toast himself on the hearthrug. But Chuck has always preferred the old fashioned ways: pencils and pinecones and sitting on books instead of computers.

Shortly I need to venture out into the Arctic to get the trash to the curb, but for the moment I am basking in this pleasant heat that I have done nothing to produce. It will be another busy day--a morning zoom meeting, then editing and class plans and assorted paperwork and, I hope, a walk once the temperature rises. We may be going out tonight to watch the student dance extravaganza at Bowdoin. I need to start reading my Tennyson homework. Probably I should go to the grocery store. There's always a pile of laundry waiting.

But at least I went out to write last night. I think the drafts I made aren't worth much, but maybe I'm wrong. And I did come across a copy of Paul Fussell's The Great War and Modern Memory in a little free library--a golden acquisition, that one. I've been meaning to read it for years. 

Funny how books find us.

What a day we had yesterday . . . First, T and I rushed through before-dawn snow shoveling. Then, promptly at 8, the furnace guys showed up and started demo-ing the busted furnace. T left for work and at 9 I began zoom-teaching upstairs, behind a barrier that T had constructed to keep the cat away from the furnace hoo-hah, which the cat figured out how to circumvent almost immediately. So I was teaching while leaping up from my chair to pluck the cat out of mischief; guys were banging and crashing in the cellar . . . Eventually, while the kids were writing, I reconfigured cat jail and shut Chuck up in our bedroom. By this point a full-sized semi was idling in front of my driveway, and the guys were unloading the new furnace from the trailer and starting to try to get it into the house. From upstairs I could hear their loud panting despair about tight corners and narrow stairs. The cat wailed in the bedroom and scratched at the door. My zoom children sweetly shared the drafts they'd been writing . . .  Ah, bedlam.

This went on till 1, when class ended and I could finally go into the bedroom and settle Chuck down into sleepiness. Midafternoon I heard a rumble, and heat began to seep through the registers. Then the Dump Guys showed up, parking their giant trailer the wrong way down my narrow street (yes, that is actually the name of the business). They'd been hired by the furnace guys to take away the old furnace . . . which they accomplished by Sawzalling it apart in the basement and shoving the pieces through the old coal hatch at the back of the house. My neighbor texted me: "Your house is vomiting."

And by 4:30 p.m., the drama was over.

Well, not actually entirely over because now I am dealing with the unpleasant aftereffects of furnace swapping: nasty greasy particulates from the old appliance, previously caught in the ductwork, are now blowing into the house. The furnace guy assures me that the problem is temporary, and I can see that it's manageable and definitely on the wane. But ick.

Anyway, despite this annoyance, we now have central heating, and just in time, because temperatures are supposed to drop precipitously tonight--into single digits or lower--and our little wood stove would not have been able to fight that battle.

Today will be much quieter without a pack of guys in the building . . . just me alone for most of the day, fidgeting through housework and desk work, getting onto my mat, fetching our CSA order, going out to write tonight. Phew.

Just a quick note this morning as I am toppling under a mountain of obligation: snow shoveling, furnace guys, zoom teaching, cat wrangling, and probably a lot of other things I am forgetting along the way. Wish me luck--

I'm supposed to be driving to Monson this afternoon, but likely I won't be because we've got a winter storm warning and up to eight inches of snow forecast. So that means I'll be zooming with the kids tomorrow while also kitten wrangling and dealing with noise and disruption because . . . [drum roll] . . . THE GUY IS COMING TO INSTALL A NEW FURNACE.

We've been without central heating for three weeks, and we've done okay. When the kitchen oven died, I do admit to feeling disheartened, but on the whole we've stayed cheerful, fed, and mostly warm. However, temperatures are supposed to drop into single digits by the end of this week, so thank goodness we're getting our heating troubles solved before life turns dire.

Because I'm probably not traveling north today, I'll have a few more hours to get other stuff done: planning for January's Monson Arts reunion class; a chance to catch up on editing, and maybe also to mess around with materials for Poetry Lab's incipient Substack journal. Yesterday I made a big pot of turkey stock and used some of it for butternut-squash risotto, so velvety and full of flavor. Today I'll reserve another couple of quarts for that classic post-Thanksgiving comfort, turkey noodle soup, and stow the rest in the freezer. I'd like to go for a walk before the snow settles in. I need to get cracking on Tennyson's Idyls of the King.

In the midst of all this I'm also working on scholarship stuff for the Conference on Poetry and Learning. If you are able, I would be so grateful for any donation you can make to our fund. Every dime will go to supporting participants who would otherwise not be able to attend.

And if you are considering applying to the conference and have questions about whether or not you'll be a good fit (short answer: you will), please reach out. I would love to see you in beautiful Monson this summer.

And now we are back to our regular days.

The kids left yesterday afternoon, and Chuck immediately collapsed into exhaustion. Nonstop kitten fun is so tiring, but he sure did enjoy himself. He dozed much of the afternoon, slept hard all night, and now he is groggily eating his breakfast and wondering where his friends went.

It was an excellent visit for all of us, though like Chuck I am a little groggy from it. Unfortunately, I need to snap out of my grog because I've got a lot of things to do: prep for Monson, prep for January's online class, work on my editing project, deal with groceries and housework.

This week will be screwy. The furnace is supposed to be installed, but we don't know on which days yet. There's a big snowstorm coming in tomorrow, meaning that I most likely won't be driving north but will instead have to zoom with the kids on Wednesday. If I'm teaching at home or up north and those are furnace installation days, T will have to take a day off from work to manage the cat situation. . . . In short, the week ahead is a busy unformed mess.

However, we do have an oven, and it has been a big help in keeping the house warmer. Last night for dinner I roasted a squash and mashed it with garlic and olive oil; I baked bluefish en papillote (with shaved red onion and a bit of leftover stuffing) and made a kale salad--classic winter fare, and so delightfully oveny. Today, amid my myriad other obligations, I'll simmer turkey stock and probably bake bread. I've got so much reading to do and, ugh, so much Christmas shopping. 

No tree for us this year, and probably very few ornaments, as young Charles is a Menace. Christmas with a kitten is always an adventure in disaster.

Yesterday was jam-packed with activity. We were on the road by 6:30, on our stools at Biddeford's Palace Diner by 7, and at the bird sanctuary before 8. It was a cold and quiet morning on the beach and along the salt marshes, the tide at its lowest ebb and the sand stretched before us like a plain. We were all deeply happy to be there. Then mid-morning we headed back to busy Portland--stopped at the grocery store, stopped at the cheese shop--then home again, to immerse ourselves in our ongoing massive Wingspan board game contest. By early afternoon P's college friend had stopped by, Tom was lighting the firepit, and I was prepping a midday grill feast of venison backstrap, halloumi, and hot cider; our neighbor had stopped in to say hello to the kids, and the six of us hung out for a few hours in our coats and hats, nibbling on grilled meat and cheese, warming up with cider, until our visitors dispersed and we four returned to our giant Wingspan game. And then a movie was proposed, so all plus Chuck piled onto the guest bed and were teary over Train Dreams. And then we closed the evening with pizza delivery and Yahtzee, and I, for one, slept like a bear.

This morning the young people will head out for breakfast with their friends, then probably propose yet more Wingspan until bus time. And by early afternoon they will be gone, and T and Chuck and I will feel a little dull for a few hours until we relapse into our regular patterns. It's been such a sweet visit. It could not have been sweeter.

Just a quick note this morning as we are on our way out for an early breakfast and a frosty bird-sanctuary hike. Here's hoping the diner coffee keeps us warm. . . .