Miraculously, I got every chore done outside that I kind of thought I maybe might have a chance to do: bagging sticks, weeding garden beds and flowerbeds, planting potatoes and onions, edging the front gardens, mowing grass. I hung up laundry and the hummingbird feeder, and I harvested spinach and chives. This morning I'm going to drive out to the nursery to buy a few plants. Then let the rains begin.

It feels so good to have everything tidy, with showers on the way and the tulips leaping into bloom. And it was lovely to spend so many hours outside. . . listening to birds, chatting with my neighbor, and meanwhile, everywhere: spring, spring, spring!

Of course I am trying to manage the regular old sadness too. On the phone with my Chicago son I am filled with longing: suddenly I would do anything to relive the comforting/alarming sound of his rattle around the house, messing around with hammers and drills and videocameras tied to toy trucks. My New York son sends a text, but what I want is his big spontaneous hug and his burst of excitement over the book he is reading or the play he has seen. Our distance is permeable; we stay close; but the physicality of their childhood is impossible to retrieve.

I'm not moping. Honestly, I'm not. I adore this cozy life with my beloved, and I am busy doing work I know how to do. But sometimes the longing for my dear ones sweeps over me.