I flew solo for the first time with AM duties for Mombo. I think I finally know the ropes. Although the progression continues (at a snail’s pace, thank heaven), each time with her is more satisfying than the last. As important as social interaction is for her, sometimes it is good just to be together, comfortable in our mutual silence. She will break it with a recollection (how they forced me to eat peas, or how I almost walked off a cliff in the fog on the heights of Capri), or I will ask her, “What are you thinking about?” Dementia does not mean that the mind is not active. Jerome arrived with Juliana, who was very sweet today and made drawings for me, and then they left with Mombo and her gear. She was apprehensive about being around their dogs, based on the recent mishap. The nurse took the bandage off yesterday and the wound is almost healed. I could tell that Mombo did not want to leave, but I told her to be a trooper, which she was already. Perhaps she put it all into the context of Lent. The spring-like weather was a perfect opportunity to work outside. An opossum was scavenging in the compost pit when I went over to empty the kitchen container, so I put it out of business, permanently. No, not as Jim Phelps would have contrived, but with a pitchfork — Grandybo style! When I was up in the orchard pruning the apple trees, I saw my first crocus blooms in front of his grave. He loved this time of year, and so do I. March on.