Nina Simone, Miss. Simone, is serenading me in the kitchen. It is raining. I am having a flash of Sevilla, the frying pan too hot of Spain, in 1996. We have been living very well for many years. The tulips for Jennifer are refusing to open this week end. They are drying , unopened, in their vase with fresh water from this morning. but the colour, yellow, bright, is pretty with the green foliage. We also have daffodils out the front I should cut and put with the tulips. There, that is done. Much better bouquet. I changed the vase. jennifer, wherever her spirit may be now, is much remembered fondly.