Yesterday at work, I got myself all befuddled. One of my responsibilities is to keep our book group sets organized and scheduled and available for the patrons who've reserved them, and part of that is updating the calendar every week. I could NOT figure out why the dates weren't lining up. I spent, literally, an HOUR shifting stuff around in my spreadsheet.

It wouldn't work until I realized: DOH! It wasn't February 28. It wasn't even a Monday. It was Tuesday, February 22.

It's the truth. I tried to delete an entire week of February.

Then, this morning, I let Jake sleep in late because he had an orthodontist appointment. This morning. You know: Thursday, February 24.

Since it was too hard to delete an entire week, this time I just went for deleting a day.

Still didn't work, of course.

Last week, I spent twenty minutes just sitting on my front porch. It was nearly fifty degrees, and three tiny purple snow crocuses had bloomed. I needed that: sitting in the presence of sunshine, warmth, and flowers.

Later that day a storm blew in, with snow and wind so ferocious I feared for my trees.

I have to keep reminding myself: it's February. It's still winter. My brain doesn't want to remember that fact because my body is so ready for spring. Ready for running outside again. Ready to mow the lawn. Ready for spring hikes, kept steep but short to avoid the inevitable mud higher up. Ready to kneel, a supplicant, before growing things.

Come, spring! I am ready for you!