The first Monday after the end of daylights saving time always kills me.
I'm not a morning person; this we know. You go ahead and get the worm. I'd rather sleep another two hours and have a muffin anyway. But to be back to waking up in pre-dawn hours is just too rude for words. It's hard enough for me to match my clothes with some daylight to aid me, you know?
I love the long afternoons though.
Last night, we arrived home from a much-needed family weekend away to a gloriously sunny, 70ºF 5:00pm. I dropped my bags in the living room, kissed my boys, traded my snow boots for my skates and took off into suburbia wild for awhile. The trees were full of blossoms, the park was full of people, and whole neighborhood smelled of flowers and that particular pungentness of charcoal barbecues. Good times.
It was a good weekend too. Some quality family time playing games and careening down snowy cliffs with long boards strapped to our feet. I also worked in some time to knit, write some poetry, and enjoy a good hour in a bathtub big enough to bathe a baby elephant. It was relaxing enough that I felt prepped to sink back into my own elevation (and temperate zone), ready for work and home and hearth again.
In other news, Google tells me that today is Douglas Adams' birthday. Sir, you were one hoopy frood who really knew where his towel was. The world is not the same for your having passed through it, and not just because you demolished it a couple of times. I raise my pan-galactic gargle blaster to you, sir, in whatever restaurant you may be in at the end of the universe.
Stay cool, folks, and don't panic.