I’m in denial over DST, aka Daylight Saving Time, so I am not going to speak of it. Not one word. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. Now that my circadian rhythm is trashed, I don’t have the energy. Besides, I can’t tell my springing forward from my falling back. Hello. Circadian rhythm trashed. See Elen moving on.

Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Friday was the first no boots day in forever. I was the unbooted. Not to be confused with the undead. I actually got to slip my feet into a pair of leather Clarks. That’s maybe two degrees of separation from flip-flops and pedicures.

Saturday, it rained cats and dogs. Okay. Maybe demons. And I was wearing wellies. Not the attractive kind either. What’s a wellie anyway, but just another word for tread. The downside is that the backyard is a soupy, muddy, rainy, snowmelt mess, and the Golden Pup has morphed into the Mud Pup. In between the soupy, muddy, rainy, snowmelt mess, we have patches of ice and mounds of snow. You gotta love northern weather.

I don’t really care. I got a bouncy, snappy, sassy hair prune and blow dry on Friday and all is right in my world. We’re losing the winter hitch in the neighborhood giddyup.

Now, don’t go all shock & horror on me, but I don’t even mind that tomorrow is Monday. That’s right. It’s just one day closer to the equinox. Forget New Year. This is when you really want that ball to drop in Times Square. In my hemisphere it will be the vernal equinox. You know what that means. Oh, yeah.

Spring, baby, Spring.

Elen