Perhaps I wouldn’t mind “springing forward” if were actually spring.
But it is not, despite the flock of robins I spied at the park this morning standing most forlornly on a slab of ice, wondering why in the world they’d bothered to make the trip northward. It’s the kind of cold, cloudy day that’s fit for nothing but lying in bed with a pile of books, a soft blanket, a cup of tea, and a warm puppy (or two) for companionship.
Alas, I cannot indulge in that pretty fantasy. There is much to do today, as always, and losing an hour puts me in a very bad frame of mind.
If I were able to place myself inside that cozy image I just described, here’s what I’d be reading….
I’d be finishing up The Best of Times, a delicious blockbuster of a novel by Penny Vincenzi. Billed as “page turning, commerical women’s fiction,” Vincenzi’s novels are always a good way to completely lose oneself in a good story, chock full of interesting characters facing real life dilemmas.
I might also be dipping into Inventing the Truth, the Art and Craft of Memoir, a collection of essays edited by William Zinsser, in which well known authors the likes of Frank McCourt, Russell Baker, Annie Dillard and several others, discuss the “pleasures and problems” of writing a memoir.
If I felt like venturing out, I might tuck the March issue of The Sun magazine into my bag and head over to Panera Bread, order a mocha latte, and settle into one of the armchairs in front of their little gas fireplace to enjoy some of The Sun’s trademark fine fiction and poetry.
But instead I’m off to the market between loads of laundry, and will return to get a head start on the week’s office work, anticipating a busy week ahead, in which I must fit in a school concert along with an ever expanding work load. Sad to say, there is not much of a spring in my step today.
How about you?