it must really be spring now, right?

It did, in fact, snow yesterday, but it was about half melted by the time it got dark. Which, since the clocks changed yesterday, was a lot later than I'm used to these days. For some reason it took my phone until about 3:00 yesterday afternoon to realize the time had changed.

In the course of talking to my sister yesterday, it seems that neither of us is going to Noank for Easter. I guess I'll just have to make lasagna for myself, then.

They're putting up a fourth house across the street, and whatever they're doing today involves chainsaws. It's a good thing I'm not trying to get any serious work done, or I'd be really annoyed. According to what was spraypainted on the last lumber delivery over there, the whole project is called Lincoln Commons, which is right next to Condominium Oaks and across the street from Dartmouth Place Apartments (I'm throwing stones from the glass house in which I live, but at least I acknowledge that). Sigh. Housing developments are so bloody pretentious.

I wonder where my motivation went?

(no subject)

My "it's spring!" instincts have woken up with a vengeance. If it's a green vegetable, I want it. I had asparagus for dinner. Someday, though, I need to find a recipe for asparagus that involves something other than lemon. (Not that there's anything wrong with asparagus and lemon, but sometimes I want something else.)

There's got to be an easier way to get this computer project done than sitting there combing through the web for definitions and contexts, but I haven't found it yet. There's no such thing as a French (or better yet, bilingual) dictionary of embroidery. Or if there is, no academic library in Ohio has one.

I suppose I could have had my tax refunds direct-deposited, but for some reason, having to write my bank account number on a document I then send to the government strikes me as a bad idea. So, I'm hoping the postal black hole I seem to keep falling into lets go for a little while. (I exaggerate. The only reason I don't usually get any mail except junk and bills is because I don't tend to write letters, and I don't have any magazine subscriptions, and I know when people are sending me anything large and/or important.)

My kitchen counter seems to be disappearing under piles of paper again. Where does it all come from?