Getting the Ball Rolling

That corner’s been rounded, that tunnel light spotted.

Spring is officially here.

I took out my golf clubs today.

Better than that, I actually used them and didn’t injure anyone in the process.

Spring Booster Shot

I'm not sure what it looks like out of your window today, I swear it looks like snow here. An impossibility at forty-five degrees, but I'm still checking the sky from time to time.  It's been gray and raw both in and out. I even hunted down the big red switch to see if the heating system was actually on.

So, if like me, you're getting a little twitchy waiting to sit outdoors, jacket-less, the sun on your face, here's a little something to keep you going. 

These are from my trip a few weeks ago to the Mt. Holyoke College bulb show. 

And now for a sweet domestic story: The Box of Chocolates

The reign of silence in the house had become absurd, laughingly inconvenient.  A phone call could trigger a round of hostile mime, a visitor to the door forced a schizophrenic travesty of polite conversation with the guest, hampered by an absolute refusal to acknowledge the existence of the other spouse in the room.

She and he went about their days, an invisible line painted through the center of the house. If he went in the kitchen, she settled into the dining room. If she commandeered the living room,

Passion at the gym

So there I am feeling virtuous at 7:30 in the morning, sailing along on my favorite treadmill. I like this one best because it’s on the end, so I only have to deal with one neighbor, and I have a direct sightline of the Today Show on the monitor.  My head is up, my headset is on,
and my legs are moving. Okay, I’m walking, not running, but I’m traveling at a pretty good clip.

Matt Lauer is interviewing Hugh Jackman and . . .

Perfectly good reasons not to do housework

 or

Spring cleaning? What spring cleaning?

As the world outside begins to break through the pale eggshell of spring, and I’m serenaded by earnest spring peepers, I gaze at the russet souvenirs from the garden that trail across my house . . .

Keeping score

      I’m becoming increasingly surprised that like an untidy zombie, I don’t see a string of body parts trailing behind me. . .