(Frost was wrong, of course. Red is the hardest hue to hold, at least when it comes to hair. As a baby I had strawberry blond hair, but it only lasted "an hour." I have tried and tried to put some red back into my dark blond hair, but it just doesn't take. I get a nice reddish shade for a few days, but soon it disappears.)

Escape from the Zoombar!

Welcome to my new home! And thanks to Ryan for getting me set up here on diarist.net.

Reading: Another Cordwainer Smith story, "Think Blue, Count Two." Smith often centers his stories around a female protagonist, which I believe is unusual for a science fiction author writing in that era (1950s and 60s).

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
--Robert Frost,

10:45 a.m. I'm back from a walk with the twins around the neighborhood. The Frost poem comes to my mind in these early days of spring when the tiniest yellow-green buds are just starting to appear on trees. Purple and white crocuses have sprung up almost over night, and some early daffodils have started to bloom. April is the truly glorious month around here, with forsythia, dogwood, magnolia, flowering pear, and cherry trees all in bloom around the same time.

We're headed out, now, to Discovery Zone to pick up invitations to Daniel's 6th birthday party, and then to Nana's.

2:15 p.m. Nana was not feeling too well today, and Rita is debating about whether to take her to the E-room. She was hoping to avoid that since Nana hates going to the hospital, but Rita is afraid that Nana has another urinary tract infection. Rita was waiting for a call back from the doctor's office with some test results, but Sarah was monopolizing the phone. Rita reminded Sarah that they were expecting a call, but Sarah shrugged and went on talking to her boyfriend. She finally hung up after another ten minutes, and a few minutes later the phone rang. Rita pounced on it, but it turned out to be another friend of Sarah's. Sarah, quite inconsiderately, went on talking to the friend for another twenty minutes. Rita was justifiably annoyed.

Tension between those two has been building up over the past few months. Rita tries to boss Sarah around as though she is Sarah's mother, not her aunt, and Sarah responds, as most 19-year-olds would, with blatant defiance. I wish that they would work out their issues; the discord created by their continual squabbling disturbs Nana. Surely now, at all times of her life, Nana deserves peace and harmony in her home.

Nana was sitting up in the chair by the front window eating a late breakfast when we arrived. Stephen and Matthew ran to give her hugs and kisses. She is so tiny and frail these days that I always worry that the boys will hurt her with their exuberant greetings; but she welcomes them with wide open arms and a radiantly joyful face.

Nana tires easily. After we had been there about an hour, she turned to me and said, "Honey, would you mind if I go upstairs and lie down for awhile?" Of course, Nana hasn't been upstairs for several months. But I said, "Sure, Nana," and got the boys ready to leave. I always cry a little when I leave Nana these days because I'm never sure if it will be the last time I see her alive. And yet I feel we are all being selfish in trying to hold on to her when she so obviously wants to go.

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