Thirteen ways of looking at April 13.

1. Pancakes for breakfast.

2. I got to wear my yellow coat.

3. New poem.

4. However, odd poem.

5. Walk with Bruiser in the cold.

6. Escaped from challenging meeting dignity etc. intact.

7. Saw Dr. Write at her signing. Huzzah!

8. Rose to the challenge of making dinner after long day.

9. Inspiring homemade mac and cheese--perhaps the best ever made by anyone, ever? Perhaps.

10. Cute shoes.

11. The historian greeted me when I got home.

12. I shall arise early to greet the dawn and also the Board of Trustees on the morrow.

13. In the meanwhile, I shall sleep. Huzzah!

Very sad words.

These are sad words: "We are out of potato chips."

These are sadder words: "Economic downturn."

Also very sad: "No time for breakfast." At least I can almost always do something about this tristesse.

This past year, I have had pancakes for breakfast at least once a week. It's one of the few foods I like a store-bought mix for. I have loved this one, but when I couldn't find it at the store where I was shopping, I bought this one, and now have figured out tips and tricks to make it work--even though it tells you to reconstitute with water, use an egg and a little canola oil, and substitute milk for the water, because this all makes a better pancake. It just does.

I actually timed myself today, and it took me ten minutes from the moment I got out the bowl to when the cakes were on my plate. Pancakes, ten minutes, and that, the people, is a better day in the making, right there.

Reading the Sunday paper.

The All-Day Protocol:

8:00 a.m. Arise from slumbers. Initiate dog greetings.
8:03 a.m. Begin the day's obsessive internet checking.
8:20 a.m. Assemble Breakfast of Power--buttermilk biscuits with currants, warm beverage, small orange juice, butter and jam.
8:35 a.m. Eat Breakfast of Power whilst perusing this week's Target ad.
8:40 a.m. Organize the New York Times thusly: front section, opinion section, style section, arts section, book review, magazine. Sports, business, and travel sections optional. (This is the dutiful order: news and commentary first, play only after work is done.) Begin reading the front section. "Reading" means "scanning the pages as I turn them." Move on to opinion section.
About 9 a.m. Scotland daughter calls. (newspaper flutters closed)
About 10 a.m. Hang up phone. Where was I? Ah, opinion section. Read the opinions assiduously. Like considering the entrails of a bird or the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup.
10:30 a.m. OMG it's writing group day. Must write poem. Must. Write. Poem.
10: 35 a.m. Begin reading style section. No! Must. Write. Poem.
12:10 p.m. Ugh, draft of poem more or less ready. Finish style section.
12:30 p.m. Take shower to rid self of poem-writing sweat and pre-election worry-stench.
1:oo p.m. Go to OfficeMax to print poem. Is it excellent or is it dross? Discuss with self while driving to writing group.
5:15 p.m. Poem: reviewed. Gossip: exchanged. Writing friendships: renewed.
5:45 p.m. Home. Construct dinner. Eat dinner.
6:22 p.m. Repair to bed because the house is cold, because of the rain and because we haven't bothered to turn up the heat. Why? Take Arts section, book review, and magazine to bed.
6:23 p.m. Commence wrestling with the covers and Bruiser and pillows to get comfortable. Note to self: reading the newspaper prone in bed inefficient and uncomfortable. Finish reading requisite sections in requisite order while prone in bed, interspersed with covers and pillow adjustment.
7:30 p.m. Wash hands to get rid of newspaper ink and cover-wrestling annoyance-chafe-swelter. Turn up heat because hands are cold.
7:32 p.m. Bask in the glow of being thoroughly informed, and having executed faithfully the Sunday ritual. Also, because of the poem. Pet Bruiser and thank him for his assistance.