Decades ago I planted a so-called Cornelian Cherry, which is really a bush Dogwood with yellow blossoms early in spring. I planted it over thirty years ago in a spot by the ‘grassy’ area behind the main garden. When we have garden parties, that’s where the food is set up and tables put out. I put grassy in quotes because it is not a real lawn but rather native grasses that have planted themselves there. Woody mows the area in warm weather to keep it usable. Suddenly this spring it has come into its own. Three days ago I looked out my office window and it was gloriously visible, bright golden flowers all over a bush that had widened and grown taller –unnoticed-- than the shed beside it. The flowers bloom out of bare wood, which makes it even showier. Every time I look out of the widow beside my computer, there it is glowing brilliantly. I’m glad I never gave up on it – or more accurately, never paid it enough attention over all these years to pull it out and replace it with something more attractive. My patient or neglect] has paid off. I watch Sugar Ray’s slow decline. He has kidney disease, the affliction that has killed a number of my cats over the years, more than half of them. We have been so close, Sugar and I, since he came home with us as a kitten, always slept together, always been loving to both of us but especially to me. I see in him my own inevitable future from something or other probably already hidden inside me. It makes me weep sometimes to know I will lose him, not in the distant future but most likely before the year is out. He is grumpy, drinks too much water, still eats voraciously but sleeps a great deal more than he ever did. He sleeps so soundly that it scares me sometimes. Cats generally are fast at waking; he no longer is. We are working on our will with our lawyer, Bruce. It’s no fun but it’s necessary. I have to provide for the cats and I’m traveling a great deal this spring. If one of us dies before the other, then it’s simple. If we die together, for instance in a car accident, then things get complicated. We are in for what likely will be the last storm of the year Sunday-Monday. it has been very mild. I started the last paste tomatoes yesterday along with 4 six-packs of cucumbers, big round pots of New England pie pumpkins and Rouge Vif d’Estampes pumpkins – the big grooved red Cinderella pumpkins. Although they’re sometimes sizable, they aren’t field pumpkins but if I cook the flesh down a bit, very tasty. Also one six-pack of marigolds. I have finally been able to get back to writing this week, three poems and their revisions. It’s a great relief, especially since I know I’ll not be able to write much in April, with eight gigs. We had Dale and Stephen over for supper last Saturday –Spanish beans, roast beef and scalloped potatoes. Dale made a torte di miele for dessert that was pure pleasure. We were supposed originally to have Paul and Dan, but the doctors are keeping Dan in Halifax and Paul flew up to join him for a week. They keep putting off Dan’s big operation, which is worrisome. I wonder if they know something they are not teling him. Anyhow, we haven’t seen him in months. If they keep him up there through the summer, we’ll try to drive up there to see him.