ML, Self-Portrait, 1961

Okay. I'm through with ranting. Ready to fully enjoy spring in the country. There's nothing like blooming fruit trees and daffodils to put me in a better mood. I know this is heresy, but I don't envy New Yorkers their cold weather and snow and ice (but Christmas in New York City is hard to beat), especially when we have great warm days in February and March, with the flowering quince in bloom and the promise of roses not far behind. Everything is early this hear, and my country roots are showing.

I ran right out two weeks ago and bought mesclun mix (already up) seeds and French baby carrot seed (not yet), but my dill is up and getting its new second leaves. I think I've given up on the Sugar Snap peas. Something else likes them better than we do, and is busy eating them down to nubs when we're looking the other way.

Ah well, we'll have Brussel's sprouts and lettuce and artichokes and cilantro and flat-leaf parsley and asparagus, and soon we'll be able to plant tomatoe, peppers and cucumbers.

I'm even starting to write again, after a stalled winter. My new memoir will cover much of my life in San Francisco when it was still a great place for young dreamers to live.

I know, you think it still is, but that's because you don't go quite as far back as I do. 'Sixties, anyone?

Ciao for now,

ML