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.