'Tis the season to think of gentle breezes, new flowers and the blush of love...somewhere in the universe, but certainly not in Northern NJ.
Buried somewhere out front under an inch and a half of solid ice, are my daffodils and tulips. Hopefully they're in suspended animation until the temperature catches up to the calendar. After spending most of the weekend alternately watching it sleet and chipping ice off the cars and the walkways I'm sure of two things:
I'm looking forward to hot weather this year and
I'm in no way ready for spring cleaning.
With salty snow boots piled by the front door and gloves and mittens still dripping onto the bathmat, I just can't muster the energy to begin the all important yearly mega-cleaning.
Why bother? Once all the snow actually does melt, the kids and the dog will be tracking mud in the house anyway, and the basement will develop a few puddles. It's too cold to open up all the windows and let in the outside air, even if it is unusually crisp and fresh.
For now I'll have to settle for for the writer's version of spring cleaning. I'll scour my hard drive, weed my in boxes, and prune my TBR pile. I'll dust off my desk, sharpen my pencils and put a fresh stack of paper in the printer.
Call me crazy, but I just don't feel like spring until it looks like this outside:
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