Yesterday, after finishing my sandwich in the Rijksmuseum's garden, at some point I decided–only now realizing this–that there was a need to take off my scarf, and so I sat it on the bench next to me. I forgot to bring it along, when I arose from the bench, as I shimmied toward the museum entrance. My excitement and anticipation outside the main entry to the Rijksmuseum, is always so strong. The gardens were then being jostled through by a few landscapers, tearing out and cutting out old grow, to allow for the new to come through. Spring is just around the corner; the birds are singing again, and even some of the more seasonal, bulbous flowers, are getting into bloom. I'm even cycling these days too, now that my bike has been repaired–it is, however, still in need of a spring cleaning. The garden on my balcony continues its growth forward, too. Everything within it is now reaching toward the sun. There are so many big moments in my agenda, over the next few months of my life; and many will quite literally take me to different places, often in search of paintings. I look forward to these adventures that lie ahead. Brussels is first, next week. I mourned my loss yesterday; I'll replace it–I know that about myself. But what is it about things and the self? Things don't define me–they do help contribute to a sense of who I am, but that thing I lost–it wasn't me. I am me. And I look forward to spring.