I just woke up from a dream in which I was trying to teach in a crowded classroom in Guilford, Maine, but the kids were playing music, joking, talking, completely ignoring me. Some administrator--the principal?--was in the room observing and appeared to be entirely unconcerned about my helpless state. It's a standard version of a teacher anxiety dream, but the timing is odd as I have just taught two different populations of kids (in New Jersey and in Monson) and didn't have trouble with either. Does my brain think I should be more scared than I am?

Yesterday I went for a walk, baked two apples pies, did the grocery shopping, edited a novel, endured a meeting, finished stacking our green firewood, went out to my poetry group, and wrote a funny poem draft that I'm pleased with--altogether a productive day. Today should be quieter. I'll be talking with Teresa this afternoon about Aurora Leigh, but otherwise I'll mostly be at my desk trying to make a dent in the editing project and attempting to remember what it feels like to be home.

The homey feeling will be brief as tomorrow I'll be on the road again, reading at Bailey Memorial Library, 1 p.m., in Winthrop. Terrible weather is forecast for the weekend, but Saturday looks like the less problematic day, so stop by if you're in the Augusta area. I'm thinking I might bring along that crown of sonnets again.

And then I really will be home, and for an entire week too. Such a novelty! My first plan is to thoroughly enjoy the oncoming nor'easter on Sunday . . . light a fire in the wood stove, bake bread and simmer minestrone, deal with herbs (pack up dried sage, thyme, and dill; process more parsley and basil for the freezer), maybe watch the Bills game if it's available on local TV, definitely fall asleep in front of the fire while rain whips at the windows. Doesn't that sound ideal?