so ready for spring.

Today is February 21. The Vernal Equinox is 29 days from now. I'm not sure I'm going to make it.

Over the past 10 days, we've had 12+ inches of snow in recurring wintry blasts. Only one day of sunshine. The snow is still chest-deep to Wrigley in the front yard, sidewalks in our neighborhood are still buried and the streets are pocked with potholes and littered with salt and debris. I'm tired of the cold, the gray, the general winter crud.

But spring will be here, I know. I have a box full of seeds from The Cook's Garden on my garden bench: five kinds of lettuce, two kinds of bean, carrot, and, to come, pepper and basil plants. We have materials for a new garden fence on order and I have a vine wreath to hang on the new garden gate. I found some colorful outdoor cushions yesterday that will be perfect on the green bench on the patio.

All three of us are ready for warmer weather so we can break this cycle of cabin fever and our joints will feel better. C'mon, Spring!

learning a valuable lesson.

By nature, I am a) generally very accommodating and b) prone to think I can do most things better than most people. Both traits are getting me into trouble at work.

I'm finding myself spread too thin, working on too many tasks, a number of which are really someone else's job (or should be). I tend to say, "I can take care of that" or "I can help with that" ... and then, bloop! Too much on my plate, and I'm doing things others should be or could be doing. Since the beginning of the year, I've been feeling overwhelmed. And, frankly, taken advantage of (though I have to own my responsibility for this problem).

In a meeting last week, one of my colleagues asked—about a marketing idea that we were considering—if it was really worth spending all that time on it. The question was revelatory. Why DO we have to do everything? Why do I have to do everything?

Today, I am practicing the art of the handoff: Doing my portion of a project, and then handing it off to someone else instead of trying to do it all myself. We'll see how this goes.

whatever we need to do.

Wrigley is about halfway through a stint on the 15-day disabled list. He's been feeling the effects of arthritis for about 6 months now; last weekend on a walk where the footing was super slippery, he torqued a joint in his right hind leg. On Monday when I came home from work, Wrigley was not at his customary spot by the back door, and I knew something was up. I found him in a corner of the living room, unable to stand up on the bum wheel. Poor boy was trembling hard, so we made a mad dash to the vet, where X-rays revealed that the arthritis is centered in his hock (his rear "ankle") instead of the hip, where we assumed it was. He'd sustained an injury, so he's been on the DL since. Even though he couldn't walk, his tail wagged furiously and he begged with his usual gusto. Good boy!

Tomorrow, we have an appointment for acupuncture. I hope I'm not putting too much stock in it, but I have high hopes that the treatment will ease his discomfort, free up his movement and generally make him more like his usual Wiggle-self.

Rob asked how many treatments we'll need ... I have no idea, and don't care about the cost. We'll do whatever we need to take care of this boy. The tail has lots of wag left in it! Plus, we're making plans now for a summer vacation, the 5 of us.

make music of what you can.

My friend Peleg Top sent me this poem. I had to post it. I'm very good at hesitating. I need to not be so.

AGAINST HESITATION
Charles Rafferty

If you stare at it long enough
the mountain becomes unclimbable.
Tally it up. How much time have you spent
waiting for the soup to cool?
Icicles hang from January gutters
only as long as they can. Fingers pause
above piano keys for the chord
that will not form. Slam them down
I say. Make music of what you can.
Some people stop at the wrong corner
and waste a dozen years hoping
for directions. I can’t be them.
Tell every girl I’ve ever known
I’m coming to break her door down,
that my teeth will clench
the simple flower I only knew
not to give . . . Ah, how long did I stand
beneath the eaves believing the storm
would stop? It never did.
And there is lightning in me still.

edgar's big day.

I started writing a post about the fact that today is Edgar's birthday (perhaps you, too, noted that on your calendar). And then I realized that I had written about the occasion last year. So I'm going to shortcut and simply repeat myself. I think this pretty much sums up our friend Big Bear:

Edgar, if you don't know, is the Big Bear; Henry is the Little Bear. We figure Edgar is probably 13 years old (Henry is maybe a year or two older) and came to live with us in St. Louis.

Henry and Edgar are best friends, inseparable. Henry is to Edgar what George is to Lennie, what Jim is to Kevin, what Greenberg is to Golic (seriously, where else do you get cultural references to "Of Mice and Men," "The Office" and ESPN's "Mike and Mike in the Morning" radio show??). Henry is wily, sharp, cynical and a bit of a critic; Edgar is big-hearted, friendly and encouraging. Edgar isn't dim, he's just unsophisticated, and he thinks more often with his belly than his brain.

Edgar has trouble grasping the concept of coincidence, so he's pretty convinced that the Super Bowl is a giant, football-laden celebration of his birthday. We haven't had the heart to correct his thinking on this.