That would be freshly melted snow - a wonderful word with origins in the 1590s. It sounds so much better than...mud. The fifth season. But - snowbroth, mud, bring it ON!
As March creaks and rattles down to a close, there are lots of celebrations of which to take note:
My neighbor/lumberjack/lawnguy/handyman turns 78 on Thursday! It's hard to believe, since he's in better shape than most 40 y/os I know - myself included. Yes. I am 40 again. I'm baking him a GF pineapple upside down cake, which, I have been told, is his favorite. I tend to view maraschino cherries with the same horror as I view Styrofoam, so, after much searching, I found some whiskey-soaked cherries instead. I doubt if he'll mind. Ah, but what to do with the leftovers? hahahahahaha.
Sylvie's beautiful daughter has a birthday this weekend. How is it possible to have four kids and still be a Babe?
Sage turns two on Friday. I will have to think of something to bring when I visit on Saturday. It is eerily quiet without those two little balls of fire. This also reminds me to track down the breeder AGAIN and see if we can't finally get her paperwork straightened out. I mean, really.
Cookie, my dear, large Pfefferneuse, turns 13 on Sunday. Such a giant lump of love he is. We believe in group celebrations at the LLF - so there will be treats for all!
Bernice, who will turn 13-ish in April (or thereabouts), is getting an orthopedic bed. It is CUSHY - with a gel form mattress. She is getting a little stiff (as am I, which is downright surprising for someone in their 40s again) and I thought it would be nice to give her a comfy space to call her own. Of course, I hope she can fit on there with all the cats. For some reason, the cats love her, and feel the need to sleep where she sleeps. Especially Pfefferneuse, all 17 pounds of him. Bernice always looks pained, but allows their snuggling.
I closed on and moved into my house seven years ago, March 31. I remember that there were hundreds of tadpoles teeming in a verdant pool down the road. I was blissfully unaware that a gravel pit had just opened. My parents gave me a hand moving in - all three pieces of furniture. I am still pinching myself.
It's Easter Sunday - there will be the inevitable egg hunt (a diabolical tradition started by my dad, now handed to my mom, who is equally diabolical.) Let me just say, it ends there. It will be fun this year, as my sister, her daughter and grandson will be joining us. There's nothing like an egg hunt when you've got a squirt involved. I am working feverishly on a knitted bunny (thank you, Mama Pea!) to be included in his basket.
With any luck, I will be able to squeeze in some seed-starting this weekend. In between dying eggs, making a ribbon salad, and working on my floor tiles. Of course, if the weather holds true to the forecast - I will be outside doing other things. This is no lack of things needing done on the LLF!