Next Day, as it happens, was Washington's Birthday,

which before 1971 was always on February 22nd, and was so still in 1968. It was such a Washington's Birthday as there have been many more of, truth to tell, in San francisco, than bright and sunny ones: It was cloudy, with occasional gleamings of sunlight, and a gentle softness in the air.  As it happened also on February 22nd, 1968, the cherry tree (60 or 70 years old then, I would guess now by the size of it) in the front yard of Carol's apartment house, was in full, exuberant bloom, and, with the big window in the front room open directly into the middle of it, seemed to fill the house with pink light and the fragrance of cherry blossoms.

I had not much to say, but she was very polite,  and sat next to me on the couch in front of the open window, and when I turned to kiss her, she kissed me back.  Then I left.

A week or so later Carol and I went to a fun/interesting play together, in a theater just off Fisherman's Wharf, that we somehow wound up being the only passengers (for blocks and blocks) on a cablecar to get to--with the exchange of several kisses by us sitting alone in the very front seats of the car, each of which was celebrated by the enthusiastic carillonning of the cablecar conductor and halooeing of the brakeman. Almost embarrassing, except it was all so good humored.