Yesterday felt pretty unbelievable. I spent the entire morning writing my conference talk, which is now done, done, done. Then I baked bread and vacuumed and washed floors, read quite a bit, did the usual laundry and watering . . . all the while knowing I'd passed the morning in deep concentration, probing a difficult topic, focusing on structuring a piece that morphs from talk into open conversation; and that I had the freedom of the house to do this; that I could pace from room to room, reading draft after draft aloud . . . 

Today, I've got a pile of mundane conference tasks to work through: finalize my syllabus, set up a conference web page, and shuffle through other such podunky projects. Supposedly rain will be arriving this afternoon, so I might try to squeeze in some weeding before it does. Still, the hours stretch before me: so many of them, and all of them mine to fill. I wonder what I'll do. I'm excited to find out.

In the meantime, I've been receiving the laconic text version of the boys' western adventures. For instance:

Dawn: Good morning! How's the view?

Paul: Full of prairie dogs