Boxing in the basement keeps me as sane as I’m able to be: working the heavy bag with the bike racks and the asbestos. Rain overnight tapped its fingers on the windowpanes. Daffodils trumpet mutely from their vase. Cobbled together a strange shabbat yesterday evening with a livecast from a local progressive synagogue (guitars, mandolins, lesbians, babies) followed by pizza and Emma. (2020) on our TV, misplaced period and all. We handed out medals to each other for our weeks of endurance: my daughter was Best New Bedtime Negotiator, my wife was Beacon of Sanity, and I? Full of worms.