I'm finally feeling resurrected enough to move beyond monosyllabic fragments.

Frequently, when at the Frost Place, I wonder why exactly I'm there. The teachers have so much to share with one another--so much important to share--that their interaction becomes the primary impetus of the week. Hanging-out-with-beer equals collegial learning. It's pretty great, and clearly one more argument for why canceling recess would be terrible for your students (not that I'm recommending beer at recess). So even though it rained for most of the week, and my flipflops now smell weird, and I had to incompetently choke out mandolin solos alongside frat-boy Jim's version of "Rambling Man," the conference was wonderful. This was the largest group of teachers we've ever had--25. We also had a very large contingent of male teachers, so clearly poetry is moving out of the realm of "nice" in the public schools into the realm of "action." This matters enormously, and not just for those resistant 11th-grade general-class boys. Now students can begin to see that poems matter to human beings across the spectrum, not simply to a stereotyped lady novel reader. Being a stereotyped lady novel reader myself, I couldn't be happier.

As for what we're having for dinner, God only knows. Over the course of the week, I evidently forgot that I lived in a house and had to do stuff like examine the contents of the refrigerator for evidence of the major food groups. Maybe I need to drink another pot of coffee before I make the attempt.