Heralding spring, a new flower arrangement (above) in Bread Alone. Little news, all proceeding predictably, teaching by week, recovering by weekend, as the snow has gradually withdrawn to reveal an universal carpet of cigarette butts and/or dog poop (the latter, in our case, in the yard). Some inspiring music in the subway – not just percussion but some of the most astonishing music sounds I’ve ever heard, accompanying the drums. And above ground a glimpse of… well, Mephisto carrying the tune? (My tune?) Meanwhile Jimmy and I have reached the final day or so of our joyous composing; musical now ready for a reading/singing. Otherwise, as I say, little or no news: no book sales to speak of; classes as usual, students quiet, maybe bored, with a few exceptions, by Chekhov, Beckett and Faulkner. My mind increasingly on my sabbatical, approaching fast now.

Finally an event: my childhood nanny Ann’s 102nd birthday party this weekend at the ‘Historic Bethlehem Hotel’ in Bethlehem PA (named, I think, for the Moravian community who founded the town), where I attended her 100th in 2013. This one was even better. Fabulous food and same warm welcome, all thanks to Mary Rowse and the Baker boys, lifelong neighbors of Ann’s. The afternoon featured Ann’s 86-year-old companion, Dave – I’ve known both of them since I was 5 years old, so for 66 years now – and the wonderful Randy who keeps a very close eye on their welfare. Enough to make one wish (maybe) to reach 102.

My Dad’s 107th birthday – or would have been! Means that I’ve reached 71 (two weeks ago now), and that my son Samuel Carey will be 35 this year: just as my Dad (like me: Reginald Carey) was 36 when I was born, so I was 36 when Sam was born, which gives me – looking back – a fairly exact sense of just how relatively ancient I must seem to Sam, as the years go by. And how relatively ancient Sam will seem to his son, my grandson Sorley, born last year.

This past week, as before: snow & ice, teaching bobbing along. Claire hard at work painting, Chiara at college work – I see her Sunday after my swim at her college pool, with Trey. Dr. Cicero summer books being sent out with their press releases and newly assembled quotes. Ashley sends her fifth novel almost page by page, wonderful poetic work in progress. And Robert and Charlotte treated me to a birthday lunch at Jean-Jacques’ sumptuous Canard Enchainé restaurant (photos courtesy of Charlotte), where a week earlier I had my birthday lunch en famille.

My forthcoming novel, ‘Dog’s Mercury,’ features a cover image drawn from the same huge painting – by the great Manuel Zardaìn – that has provided covers for the two preceding novels, as it will provide them for the remainder of the sequence, which was completed in one year. This week I took a few photos of various corners of the painting, looking for the covers yet to come. When the books are all published, the last one should perhaps contain, in the endpapers, an image of the entire painting, with each of the covers identified in a rectangle to show their relation to the whole. Just as for me the sequence is a litter, the painting has come to symbolize the litter’s unity-in-diversity (or more exactly vice versa).

One day this week I was so desperate for a quick blast of protein that I acquired this (left) from the college cafeteria. It was advertised as Lousiana Spicy Chicken. Is this the Louisiana Spicy Chicken? I asked the gentle soul behind the counter, a resigned-looking older black guy. “Thass what they say,” he replied, with subtle expressionlessness. And here it is. Inedible. But worth preserving an an image – a mummified gopher from the Cretaceous era.

Then my 71st birthday! A wonderful day, culminating in cards (one declaring me “the best husband money can buy”), one of them a pop-up tree, and a cake – healthy! made of raspberries & strawberries – and two fine gifts, monogrammed cufflinks, by golly, and a fine pulover with rolled collar, my favorite. (Last year I got the same, in grey.)

Finally some of Claire’s fine new work, including one of her ‘Library’ series for exhibition at Woodstock Library and subsequently, this summer, in her native town of Clonmel in Ireland. and a portrait of Chiara in progress.

Hardest winter since… well, since last year, which dropped a ton of snow on us too. This one has been worst for New England – Massachusetts and Boston in particular. We’ve had a good deal of snow again, relentlessly so, with little respite from zero and sub-zero temperatures.

The log trolley, visible in the right-hand picture by the garage doors, has been put to good use, and we’ve been getting through our 3 cords of wood at a fast rate. The woodlot has been a godsend; at present the outdoor logs, under their tarpaulin (top right corner), are under snow and ice, and I’m hoping the snow will have subsided before I have to take recourse to them. No more than a week of logs-under-cover left.

For some 6 years now, Eric the postman has been building his own home, in the lonely uplands. It’s coming along majestically. 4 years more, Eric figures, and all the expensive stuff, flooring, carpets, furniture, yet to come. But the building is snowtight, and looking fine.

Brooklyn winter. Back to school in dismal cold and rain. The cleaners on Ocean Ave – the O M G Cleaners (see below), sum it up for me: Oh My God.

In Woodstock, my mornings come alive in Nana’s coffee shop, formerly Lois’s, featuring my dear pal Ric’s daughter Kara behind the counter, and Voodoo coffee, the best in the area, in a steaming paper cup.