For the moment the windows are open. This makes young Charles so happy: he loves to sit by the screen door admiring chipmunks and sparrows.

Overnight there were severe storm warnings for inland Maine, but I don't think the coast got much rain from the hoopla, though a thunderclap broke over Portland that was loud enough to wake the dead. That means I'll probably need to water the garden this morning, before today's squalid heat kicks in and I shut up the house and disappoint the cat.

The weather has kept me out of the garden, except for watering and quick harvesting. The beds are weedy, but there's not much I can do about that until the heat breaks. Instead, I've tried to focus on catching up on house chores--bathrooms, floors, laundry--and dealing with various errands. Yesterday I went to city hall and transferred my old license plates to the new car. I did a bunch of post-conference paperwork. I also encouraged myself to sit down and read--something I haven't been able to do much of for more than two weeks. I'm still working my way through Great Expectations, and I know that resurrecting my reading hours is the first step toward resurrecting my writing hours.

Recouping sleep is the second step. Last night, despite the thunder, I slept almost solidly from 8:45 till 5 a.m. This was after taking several little catnaps during the day. I know I'm behaving a bit like a convalescent, but so be it. Sleep is as important as poems.

And despite my doziness, I'm walking, I'm thinking, I'm getting stuff done. My wedding ring is back on my finger. Gloria sports her Maine plates. Pip is stupidly in love with cold-hearted Estella. I slice up cucumbers and toss a macaroni salad. A word slips in edgewise.