Dear March, come in*

by chuckofish

I had a lovely, short week. Due to ‘February Break’, I had Thursday and Friday off. Better still, son #3, who got a whole week off, came home for a few days. He brought Evelyn, who since Christmas has transformed from an adorably shy kitten into a furniture-clawing, toy-killing, counter-leaping cat. She knocks things over and she broke one of my plants, but she’s still irresistible.

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In other news, we finally realized that our second car — the one Tim has been driving around snowy, pot-hole-filled Vermont — was no longer road-worthy, having rusted so badly  in places that nothing but carpet separated passengers from the pavement. Steve was a good car, and at fourteen a true road warrior.

Note the alarming sag in the middle of the car

Note the alarming sag in the middle of the car

Faced with a sudden and unexpected car purchase, we hastened to our local used car dealer (trusted — we are acquainted with the owner) and bought the only vehicle that really fulfilled our immediate needs. It’s a ten-year-old Chevy something-or-other with high mileage, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Most important, we like it and there’s no rust.

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And that was that day gone. While I got almost nothing done all week, Tim managed to rewire our living room speakers, set up our wifi router extender (whatever that is), and cook his parents a lovely dinner of beef stew and made-from-scratch rolls. I don’t know where he gets the technical and cooking prowess — certainly not from his mother — but it’s quite wonderful.

Now the house is super quiet again and Monday looms.  My weekend plans include puttering, walking, reading, and avoiding the Oscars, which will be hyper-political and therefore completely meaningless.

Never mind, February is nearly over and spring is just around the corner. Easter is coming, and daffodil time — all is well!

*Emily Dickinson, “Dear March”