Yesterday's zoom teaching went as well as could be expected, and then afterward I pounded out some editing and commented on student drafts, so altogether it was a dense work-from-home day. Meanwhile, the air swirled with snow, no accumulation, just tattered flakes gyroscoping in the wind.

Today I'll be back to editing, but also I've got to set aside time to unsnarl medical billing. I want to get onto my mat; I need to do the grocery shopping; I'd like to muck around outside, but I expect the weather will stay grim.

Still, I refuse to complain about rain and cold. I am not going to dissolve into gloom and dread and wishful thinking--not about the weather, not even about these stupid medical bills, though I admit I am tempted to wail over them.

But what's the point? Here I am, still alive and lively, with two hyacinths blooming on my mantlepiece and a sweet guy making a sandwich in the kitchen. How can I complain?

Here are some more good things. Yesterday, between various jobs, I finished the Annie Ernaux book and made progress on the Henry James book. I'm editing a manuscript of short stories, a refreshing change from my usual academic assignments. I set up an appointment with the poet/tree expert who is helping me protect my beautiful healthy ash tree from the ravages of the emerald ash borer. My daffodils are beginning to bud. I have no idea what I'll be cooking for dinner, but I look forward to finding out.

What is love, 'tis not hereafter,

Present mirth, hath present laughter:

      What's to come, is still unsure.

In delay there lies no plenty,

Then come kiss me sweet and twenty:

      Youth's a stuff will not endure.

[from William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night]