Though T and I didn't do anything spectacular yesterday, we thoroughly celebrated the Major Holiday That Doesn't Demand Travel or Presents or Large Meals. He slept late, I wallowed with a Le Carre novel, we went for a walk after the rain ended, I made naan and dal with fried spices, he installed a few more kitchen-cabinet doors . . . It was strange but nice to quit our jobs in the middle of the week and enjoy a day without demands. Maybe every Wednesday should be a day off.

But, alas, it is over, and this morning, like most of you, we are climbing back onto the work train. I'll be spending the bulk of my day organizing packets for my upcoming zoom class. Teresa and I are excited about the format of this session, but it is requiring a great deal of administrative preparation, and everything needs to be finalized before I leave for Brooklyn next week.

And I've got a grant application to finish, and a high school class to consider. And tonight I'll want to go out to write--given that I was in Vermont last Thursday and will be in NY next Thursday, I really can't miss this week's gathering. So that means cooking something or other for a potluck and figuring out a writing prompt to share.

It will be a poetic and pleasant workday, as workdays go, and I am not complaining even one bit. But I am tired of waking up to alarm clocks. When I imagine retiring, I never imagine not working . . . but I do imagine what it might be like to never leap up to another alarm again.