Such a sweet afternoon and evening with our tired travelers, who had been up since 3 a.m. in another time zone but somehow kept going. We went for a chilly walk, then lit the fire and welcomed Tom home after work, hung around, ate spaghetti, played Yahtzee, and finally dispersed into beds. I hope the young people can sleep in, despite the inevitable getting-Tom-off-to-work noise we'll be making. The Alcott House is a hard place to have a secret: every room seems to be sitting in every other room's lap. But at least there are doors.

Our second wave of young people won't arrive till this evening, so the day is pretty open, with a certain amount of food prep filling in around the edges. J and H may go hiking or visit with a Harmony friend. Or the three of us might hang out somewhere together. It's nice to have no definite schedule, after my busy weekend of prep. I'll need to buy salmon at the fish market today, and I'll need to pick up the turkey by Wednesday. Otherwise, I can do whatever they want.

It's a cold morning--20 degrees and not forecast to get out of the 30s. But it will be sunny, and I wouldn't mind taking a look at the sea today. Maybe I'll drive the kids to the beach, if they don't have another plan. Or maybe I'll stay home by myself for a few hours and work on a poem. That would be an unexpected boon: a Thanksgiving holiday that includes time to write.

I received a text from a friend yesterday, which arrived as I was methodically combing the aisles of the Hannaford grocery store. "Joy might be for real this week," she wrote. Now my little house is filled with the breath of sleeping and waking bodies. I'm glad to pause and celebrate.