March always begins with celebration. Ojciec claims the first, his birthday has always reminded me of apple pie and hopes of spring. My husband has the second now, and his brithday was salmon and chocolate and snow; but still with hopes of spring. Now, the third, St. Winwillow's we have snow piled in the center of the road and blue skys. March is a lovely month. I have not been social recently, except with my husband and my books; but I mean well. I am so full of distractions, of Lent and Marquez and the need for ritual in life. I would like to sweep up the dust collecting in my loved one's lives and order them towards beauty, but I am not God, so I content myself with prayer and my own glorious home.