Calm, partly sunny, and almost 50. The sky full of geese again, only today, on a layer higher up, cranes—quite a number of 20-to-30-bird flocks of Sandhills, staccato trumpeting their way north. The sound of wanderlust, in my opinion.

Pax and I got in our first real bike-ride of the season, to the prairie and back. We took it easy, but even so, he is sprawled in a recliner, sound asleep as I type.

Speaking of typing, I will reveal a bit of ancient history. As a junior in high school, during a break in play practice, I snuck into the Typing Room, found the teacher's grade book and a red pen, and changed every F in the book to an A. (It's pretty easy, just draw a line straight down from the upper right side of the F. And it really is the right thing to do— I mean an F in Typing?!?) But as I should have expected, a spy was lurking in the shadows, and this Goody Two-shoes ratted me out. Result? I was suspended for a week. Only problem? The play was in 10 days! Result? I got to wander the cornfields and go fish in the lake every morning but then got to go to play practice at school every afternoon.

And now you know why I like typing (even on this redicuously little keyboard). But what, however, was the name of the play? Oh. yes, I think I might remember—it was a significant play, not a trifle—something about a young girl (who had a boyfriend, aka me) holed up in an attic apartment in the Netherlands in he early 1940's.

Ab texted a photo this morning of a truck up to its mirrors in rotten ice on Pewukee. I'm beginning to worry that this might be one of the the worst iceboating seasons on record.