...and there goes the year again, accelerating away from me in its usual fashion. My bulbs are out in force and very soon I'll have daffodils in the garden, which means we're into spring - and no, I don't care that it's snowing outside. Hubby informs me that "it's just flurries", but flurry or blizzard the verb applicable for what's going on outside right now is "snowing". But it's spring. I know it is. The daffodils are about to pop. Bellingham's famous cherry trees, the ones whose blossom so enchanted us when we first got here in late February four years ago, are starting to cover themselves with those delicate pink blooms. Before I know it, March will be halfway gone - I'll have to scurry off to Lunacon and come back - by the time I get back it'll be the last dash of March and the tulips will be out and soon after that the first rhododendrons are going to start and the lilacs and the lily of the valley and I know that before I have a chance to register THAT it'll be summer all over again.
Oy vey. The years go by faster and faster the older I get, I swear.
I've a SLEW of things to do, all of a sudden. All of it time sensitive. All of it priority. All of it... aw heck... going away to conventions is WORK, to be sure, but I swear I go off to them to get away from all the stuff I have to do at home...
(And it's SNOWING, folks. Seriously snowing. I kid you not.)
Back to the current job-in-progress. No, not the novel. Something came up.