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I’m digging my way back into my life, literally and figuratively. The drive across the mountain yesterday–once I got off the VCCA campus, which was complicated by snow and an inconsiderate driver–wasn’t too bad, despite chunky ice in spots. As expected, though, my own driveway was impassable thanks to drifts both natural and plow-made. I pulled into the neighbor’s drive, dived into the drift to retrieve a shovel from the garage, and started digging in. In about a half hour I’d cleared enough space to at least move my car to my own driveway, which I did. And since then I’ve cleared a little more and have also begun the figurative digging–the mail, mostly.
One bright spot in the mail was a package from Triquarterly Books (Northwestern University Press) with a signed copy of the acclaimed new novel by poet Angela Jackson. Where I Must Go, which looks like a terrific book. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get to it, but I’m looking forward to it.
