I see the temperature rise. I ditch ye olde fuzzy wuzzy socks and Ugg boots. My greenhouse fertilizing team, Team Goldfish, swim up to greet me and eat happily from my hand, as they plot their next moves to make even MORE goldfish. I start to think of adopting a FIXED doggie, so it doesn't make a "next move" in my land of fertility. The morsels of flower bulbs have been dutifully separated and replanted as floral borders, so the runners along the canal path in our yard have something to look at besides their stupid fitbits. The garden is beckoning me to plant seedlings, and get really dirty. As my middle age aches loudly inform me, the only dirty things happening here have to do with getting up, getting down, and planting, not anything else. Rats! I begin my days tracking mud all over my studio floor, drinking a cup of hot coffee, attempting to wake up, but really wanting a snuggly nap watching Judge Judy reruns. Ok, so as that seems kind of pathetic, I opt to work on new jewelry, freshen up the vintage website, and dust off my rearranged wholesale website. I pray to the Wailing Wall that my stores are surviving, and need to refresh their coffers a bit. I genuflect to my photo studio, and take nifty pix of all my new limited edition creations from my ACJ line. I finish up my various jewelry projects left hanging due to teenager interruptus, from which I suffer chronically.
Spring has sprung finally. The yellow green buds are sprinkled upon my forsythia, I nearly ran over a lumbering groundhog crossing a back road, and hubby is talking tractors and grills and seed suppliers with whomever wants to listen in his midst.
I am about to enter the land of food sustenance supplier to my poor kiddos who are entering the Hell of AP exams and SAT prep. That shiny new Barrons book will look like dogeared toilet paper once they are finished with it. Ain't Spring grand?