Daffodils

Today, daffodils are my favorite flower. Once they're up and blooming, I feel confident that the snows and persistent cold are gone for another season. I love my yellow friends. It's a breezy day and their scent is so gently carrying on the wind and they smell like spring.

Neither here nor there but I've been doing yoga for about a month now and I'm dramatically fatter than when I started. A kind friend suggested it's muscle. Sadly, I suspect the yin of the donut is at war with the yang of yoga and has yet to achieve harmony in my body. Which will prevail? Can they coexist?



My Aunt Polly has lots of sayings. She's often asked me in my lifetime when I tell her about my week, "Are ya goin' friendin'?" I could have exercised today but chose "friendin" instead. Breakfast with one and an afternoon of glorious deck sunshine and conversation with two others. My beloved magnolia next to the deck has not succumb to the trickery of the March lion this year, as it usually does. It will often bloom with confidence in the one warm spell in March, a false God if ever there was one, only to have its blooms literally shocked by the return of winter for three more weeks. I yell at the tree every year. "Don't bloom, my darling! It's not real spring. Don't be fooled. " The shocked blooms are heavy and juicy and they hit the ground with depressing thuds, never to open to their full glory. It's so depressing. It's not a smart tree. But I love it like I love a stupid dog.



Sorting pictures from Key West was not psychologically painful in the way I thought it would be. The sunshine and flowers were beautiful to look at today as it's an equally glorious day here in WI to those we spent last weekend. The painful reality was more that there are 270 bloody pictures. Nobody needs 270 pictures of anything. Not even a bride needs that many pictures. Digital photography is a dual edged sword.



Dinner's in the crockpot. Pulled chicken sandwiches for dinner with a beer maybe or a margarita even. Hurray for sun...