Disorganized thoughts
agonistes? Tibet is around recently, it seems; on my friendslist today is a recipe for momos. (Meat, not tsel momos as I am fond of, but still. I have, obviously, not tried the recipe out to see how well it works.)
By this time of year in Cincinnati, where I grew up, the dogwoods and other flowering trees would be in bloom, and the grass greening, and flowers unfurling in gardens. Here in Massachusetts, the trees aren't even hazed yellow with the first growth of branches and buds. All the same, it's spring; yards are slowly deepening from yellow-brown to a deeper, richer green, and I walk home with my pleather trenchcoat unbuttoned and turn my face to the breeze with a smile. Spring here comes in fits and starts -- warm one day, snow the next, and then warm again and melting into an all-over spongy mat of growth -- and even on the warm days it's still too chilly to sit comfortably outside by the time I get home from work, but the tend is clear. Yesterday I sat in the windowsill with my legs dangling out over the porch, talking on the phone while my cat prowled around my feet with her habitual half-hearted complaining noises.
There's a vase full of daffodils on the bookcase, and our downstairs neighbor is talking about replanting grass in our bare back yard. Soon, I'll give into temptation, and figure out how much money I can afford to spend on plants for porch and living room. It's time to have green things around.
Today at work, some group was using one of the rooms and had apparently ordered too much food. So we have a big plate of free pastries they left in our library, and hardly anyone but the staff around to eat them. More mini-croissants for me! This suits me just fine.
By this time of year in Cincinnati, where I grew up, the dogwoods and other flowering trees would be in bloom, and the grass greening, and flowers unfurling in gardens. Here in Massachusetts, the trees aren't even hazed yellow with the first growth of branches and buds. All the same, it's spring; yards are slowly deepening from yellow-brown to a deeper, richer green, and I walk home with my pleather trenchcoat unbuttoned and turn my face to the breeze with a smile. Spring here comes in fits and starts -- warm one day, snow the next, and then warm again and melting into an all-over spongy mat of growth -- and even on the warm days it's still too chilly to sit comfortably outside by the time I get home from work, but the tend is clear. Yesterday I sat in the windowsill with my legs dangling out over the porch, talking on the phone while my cat prowled around my feet with her habitual half-hearted complaining noises.
There's a vase full of daffodils on the bookcase, and our downstairs neighbor is talking about replanting grass in our bare back yard. Soon, I'll give into temptation, and figure out how much money I can afford to spend on plants for porch and living room. It's time to have green things around.
Today at work, some group was using one of the rooms and had apparently ordered too much food. So we have a big plate of free pastries they left in our library, and hardly anyone but the staff around to eat them. More mini-croissants for me! This suits me just fine.