Today it will snow again, and I will sit at my desk again, and edit again, and read, and drink coffee until I switch to tea, and wander downstairs to warm up by the stove, and fold laundry, and read, and feed animals, and do all the same things I always do and which you are weary of reading about. I wish I had something new and exciting to impart. But the most exciting thing I have to share is the half-pound of picked crab in my refrigerator, which I bought in Rockland yesterday.

In book news: The supercilious private detective is investigating the mysterious murder of a hot-tempered Australian miner. The crazy ship's captain is chasing the whale. People are turning into rhinoceroses.

In hen news: Ten eggs yesterday, but one was broken.

In family-competition news: My goal in the NCAA basketball tournaments is to achieve the worst possible score. (Pitt: I'm behind you all the way.) But I can still win at Yahtzee.

In random but prescient quotation news:

One has only to think of the Elizabethan tombstones with all those children kneeling with clasped hands; and their early deaths; and to see their houses with their dark, cramped rooms, to realise that no woman could have written poetry then.

Can you guess/dredge up from the coiled recesses of your brain the name of the person who wrote that sentence? (Be brave: no Googling.)