Flying down to Charlottesville in a tiny little airplane. All right, you want to know what little airplane, I'll check the seat card. It's a Saab 340B. That's for my nephew the pilot. (Hey, BSR, you ever flown one of these?) It can hold about 35 people, though now it's carrying an even dozen. When the travel agent booked it I said, "Wait, you didn't ask if I wanted window or aisle." She said, "I got you an A seat. On that plane the A's are both window and aisle." It's true: I'm in a row of one. I feel like the army. It's a very noisy plane but I have my trusty earplugs in. That's a good thing because the guys across the aisle from me (in a row of two) are shouting at each other, which you have to do to be heard above the noise of the propellors. Like I said, this thing is small. Unlike the big jets, we're flying low, so I can see the ground all the way from NY to VA. Farm country, greener and greener as we go.

And speaking of greener, the dwarf irises are up in the garden near my apartment. Very delicate things, dwarf irises, deep purple with golden centers. A little precious for my taste, but it's been such a long cold winter that any flowers are welcome by now, and these dainty miniature guys do have the guts to come up early. The daffodils' green stems have yellow swellings on the end; they should bloom by the time I get back. I can see a chartreuse haze on the willow tree in the backyard behind my building, so it will be leafing out soon, too. Planting willows is now illegal in NYC because their roots, searching for water, tear up pipes. I was excited when I moved into my place to see that the neighbor had a willow tree in his yard. And heartbroken when it died. And thrilled and completely closed-mouthed when it was replaced the next year. I guess he figured he was grandfathered, and I covered my ears and chose to believe him. Warren, if you're reading this, I'll deny all.