Marching On

I think of March as a spring month, don't you? Is March the "In like a lion, out like a lamb" month? I'm not sure, and I don't feel like going through the effort of Googling it to find out. I think it is because April showers bring May flowers, right? Anyway, the point is, I think March is when winter is supposed to have its sleeper hold on the world broken by a few bright days and slightly warmer temperatures. It's when we're supposed to see light at the end of the tunnel that's not just a snowy train coming to crush us.

I'll hold out hope for that. Tonight we went out for dinner at Qdoba (one of our faves from way back) and the fog and falling snow combined into this purplish-blue blanket that swathed everything. It actually reminded me of Idaho weather, so nothing looked too spring-ish tonight. Snow, fog, bitter cold - it ain't the opening chapter of Dandelion Wine, you know?

We've begun looking at houses around town. It's exciting to see places that might be our future home. Some are solid possibilities and some are outright, hardcore, not-a-moment's-doubt, resounding "NOs." (Visited one yesterday where someone had left an open dirty diaper on the living room floor just to the left of the front door. Those people aren't trying very hard to sell their junky, piece-of-crap home. I can't imagine a person not knowing better than that.) So we're deep in the madness of vacillating back and forth over size, features, location, storage, yard, neighborhood, etc. It stretches my brain like a dried out rubber band - there's only so much give before the thing snaps and becomes useless. We've seen everything there is to see in our price range and chosen area, and, while there are two pretty good possibilities, we've decided to wait a week or so and see if anything else comes on the market.

Thankfully, the stupid winter Olympics are over. It was a long two weeks of nothing good on TV and we are slowly getting back to programming that doesn't involve skaters, sledders, or skiers, and the only Russians are the spies who are being tracked by the good guys. I don't care about sports normally, but I especially don't care about the lameness of winter sports. The winter Olympics are to summer Olympics what Roger Clinton is to Bill Clinton, what DeeDee Pfeiffer is to Michelle Pfeiffer, what Joanie Loves Chachi was to Happy Days, what Joey was to Friends. Combine that with Bob Costas's grotesque pinkeye glare and you've got the best recipe for me turning off the tv and reading a book there ever was. So, after a long day of agonizing over this house versus that house, I can sit down and unwind in front of something fun and dumb. Yay for television.

This coming week is my spring break. As mentioned above, I will probably not be outside in shorts and sandals. Given that the girls' spring break isn't for another two weeks, I probably won't be doing anything at all. Ah well. Staying at home and doing nothing in bad weather is still way better than going in and working in bad weather. Maybe I'll just sit in front of the computer and stare at stuff like this: