Yesterday was an out-and about day--a trip up the coast (across the coast? down the coast? directions are confusing when one is winding among the spits and fingers of the midcoast) to have lunch with a friend, then errands, and then my writing group. I did all of the driving because that is the protocol: the person with the new car has to do all of the driving for the first few days and then everything can go back to normal. But I was glad to let Gloria stretch her legs on the highway and the back roads, and I have almost figured out how her buttons work. Gloria, by the way, is the Mazda's name. The Impreza was Tina--chosen because my boys suggested that I name her in honor of one Harmony's leading citizens. I see no reason to break that pattern.

This morning it's raining lightly. I need to drag the trash out to the curb, and get my walk in; I need to deal with a bunch of desk stuff; I've got to figure out something to make for dinner, and I have two quarts of strawberries to hull and transform into a pie. I also have a couple of draft blurts from last night's writing prompts to mess around with. If the rain slows to a mist, I'd like to weed the front gardens. I might run an errand or two.

These next couple of days will be my last hurrah with unemployment. On Monday evening Teresa will arrive from Florida and the conference faculty will leap back into rehearsal mode--a repeat of our Sarasota residency schedule, but this time we'll be working in the Bowdoin dance studio, a 40-minute drive north of Portland. Then, on Sunday, we'll head up to Monson and plunge into the joyous netherworld that is the conference. I'm excited about this year's participants--a mix of old friends and new . . . people who once attended the Frost Place iteration but whom I haven't seen for several years; people I've worked with online through Studio Session and Poetry Kitchen classes; local poets as well as people who are brand-new to me. We're fully subscribed, which makes the Monson Arts folks very happy, and it makes me happy as well. I'm so glad this conference remains vital and lively. I'm so glad participants love the new digs.

Every once in a while I read an elegiac Facebook post lamenting the Frost Place old days. This is, I will admit, painful for me. The truth is that the conference is more stable and more adventurous than it was able to be at the Frost Place. I loved that setting too, and I suffered, on many levels, when I made the decision to leave it. But the move turned out to be very good for both the creative growth of the conference and my own mental health. Having everyone together on the same campus makes both the classroom and the social sides more cohesive. Having an in-place staff that handles all non-program logistics means that I can focus entirely on my real job without exhausting myself into a smear of tears. Working in a place where poetry is just one of many endeavors to celebrate is uplifting and stimulating. Like the Frost Place, Monson Arts is beautiful, historic, arty, welcoming. It is also comfortable, which was not a prime feature of the FP. The only thing missing here is Robert Frost's ghost. But the truth is there are a lot of other fantastic ghosts floating around out there who are eager to be welcomed in.