These off-weeks between my Monson trips fly by. It's Wednesday already, and already I need to think about traveling on Monday, even though I feel like I'm still recovering from last week's snowstorm nightmare.

Suddenly, after a dry early winter, we are being socked with one Yankee clipper after another. A storm's on the way for tomorrow, threatening to derail my haircut and my writing group. Another's on the way on Sunday, when I'm supposed to be motoring up to Brunswick for an afternoon reading. I do love to watch snow fall; I love to see the drifts draped over my garden. Just don't make me drive.

Today I've got some hopes of finishing my current editing project, and this afternoon Teresa and I will talk about Lyrical Ballads and do some Conference on Poetry and Learning planning. Last I heard we were already half full, registration-wise, so talk to me soon if you've got questions about the program, housing, etc. The town would make a lovely lakeside vacation spot for family, and there are nearby off-site options where you can bring dogs and kids. Maine is vacationland, you know. It says so right on our license plates.

I finished rereading Emma, and it made me so happy that I immediately started rereading Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives and Daughters, another deeply satisfying novel. Both also dovetail beautifully with the Lyrical Ballads project, so I can pretend I am being smart while I'm actually just being cozy.

I'd like to do some poem writing, but that hasn't happened yet this week . . . too much other writing to do, such as that syllabus for the upcoming zoom weekend that's morphed into a sort of craft essay. I probably shouldn't waste my time writing out these little thoughts and talks; if I were a full-time teacher, I certainly wouldn't. But as it is, I end up with teaching plans that are essentially apologia speckled with discussion poems and prompts. I guess I don't know what I know, craft-wise, until I shape words around it.