That last week in February it snowed big heavy flakes. You know the ones that coat the trees in thick sheets of white. Many early to bed evenings buried in blankets, falling asleep during Boardwalk Empire and a whole lot of leggings. (Don't judge. Leggings are amazing. Maybe they aren't "pants" exactly, but leggings, leggings are the best) It seemed I was driving a lot in the mornings when the plows had yet to clear the streets (Bill Stowe I don't blame you for waiting until 730 to clear the way, it's still and quiet and a pretty kind of chilly in the early hours). That cozy winter cocoon didn't stick around long though.
Thus far March has been much like the eve of Spring should always be: volatile. The grass appears to get greener by the hour, the skies are flooded with sunlight and suddenly dyed gray with rain clouds, and each of us gets a little anxious. They say March always clamors in like a lion.
Those first couple bits of the month slipped calmly past while I was studying basketball teams in an effort to compose an infallible bracket and eagerly learning horse race betting jargon, realizing I'm very unlucky in the casino, but felt like one charmed lady outside the walls of Prairie Meadows.
But then, preoccupied by decadent views and simply addictive consumption of The Hunger Games series, early March became mid-March, outta nowhere. That week I soaked up salty breaths of ocean air and cozied up to the bar (and the scallops) at my favorite spot in San Diego, daydreaming of (finally) dragging travel companions to the coast. My apologies to the many of you who were begged to accompany me on my next venture west that night-- as a Pearl Preferred Member I got two bobbers this time. (and 2 bobbers means 2 bourbons) But to be clear, you are definitely still invited.