We have at school several magnolia trees in easy view of my office windows.
The buds are (much too early) already nearly as large as my thumb.
Elsewhere the oriental magnolias (or at least I think that’s what they are) are already showing flowers, but those flowers are not surviving the cold weekend:
My dining room. A new rug. Home renewal continues. 
My little critter Auggie had some dental surgery on Tuesday.
The aftermath — a slightly moany night as the pain upset him. And upset his system, if you know what I mean.
I have heard said — “You know how much you love a critter by how much of his poop you clean up.”
Now I know. My love for this little guy is unbounded.
And without undue details: sheets and bedspread were all washed first thing Wednesday morning. But not until Auggie, held firmly under my left arm, got his hindquarters severely cleaned in warm water. The look in his eyes was priceless . . . something akin to “I know that you are doing this for a reason, but I don’t know what it is, and I’m not certain I like it, but that warm water feels better than what was back there.”
Add one more thing to the checklist of ‘What I’ll Do For A Dog.’
Global warming, anyone?
In my garden on 22 February 2017 —
And on the banner, the lilac buds are set and growing.
I don’t begrudge the crocuses, but the daffodils traditionally bloom closer to the anniversary of my mother’s death on March 23 — though every year for the past ten they’ve crept in earlier and earlier.
January 2007, ten years ago. I was leading the Alabama All-State Show Choir.
After our visit to the groomer on Sunday . . . .
