I spent yesterday doing housework and laundry (and editing). Today I'll be in the garden (and editing). Temperatures are now warm enough for tomatoes, basil, and such (hurray!), so I've got to acquire those seedlings, then lug them home and plant, then weed flowerbeds, fix the trimmer, etc., until I lose interest/become exhausted/finish. It's ridiculous how much time it takes to keep this tiny plot in shape.

Other things on my mind: choosing what poem I'll read for Curtis's memorial service on Saturday . . . most likely something by Hayden Carruth; deciding whether I'll be going out to write tonight (probably yes); working on various iterations of class prep; trying to get my head in order after being away from all varieties of work for most of a week. The time-zone switch between Portland and Chicago isn't major--just an hour's difference--but I still feel like I've fallen through the daylight savings portal. I can't quite tell what's supposed to be happening when.

Well, life will level out again soon . . . though not immediately. This weekend is going to be a giant flurry--driving hours and back for the memorial service, with three hours of zoom teaching jammed into the midst. It's not an ideal situation, but neither is death. So I am not going to grouse.

And spring is so soothing to my mind. I wander from window to window, staring out into my lovely gardens, so fresh and bright and full of promise.

I miss my boys dreadfully. I am glad to be home. I am overwhelmed by obligation. I take off my shoes and dig my bare feet into the green grass.