Message from C.

April is the cruelest month it states in one of my favorite poems. Or as Mark Twain said that April first is the day we admit what we are every other day of the year. A fool. In any case it is the month I was born in so I have a fondness for it that over rides what anyone can say about it. Everything begins again in April. Flowers, trees, warm weather clothes. We, or I should say I, get way too many ideas of what I want to accomplish in Spring. A new garden. Building a pizza oven. Unifying the field theory. You name it. What I realize is that if I could harness and package that "thing" that spring does to us I would be a wealthy man indeed. In spirit, in life, in harmony. And doesn't spring smell good too?

Just what I was thinking C. and it was a wonderful evening thanks to you once again.