55˚ is the current temperature. The dense morning fog disappeared when the rain started. It will rain most of the day. The dogs will be in and out and will leave more paw prints. I’ll complain, loudly. The dogs won’t care. The day will go on as usual.

I’m tired. I need more sun so I can regenerate. I want to bake on the deck in the warmth of a spring day, but, instead, I get fog, clouds and rain, not a bit of sun. It seems I’m wanting a weather miracle.

I used to love to ride my bike through the biggest puddles. It was my version of the parting of the Red Sea. My bike made tsunami like waves on each side when I rode at top speeds through the puddles. The center was dry. Sometimes I’d lift my feet off the pedals into the air, my legs splayed over the water. It was part of the fun.

When I was a kid, I liked to roller skate in the parking lot up the street from my house. I had the old key skates, and, like the rest of the skating world, I kept my key on a string around my neck. I’d sit on the curb and use my key to tighten the clasps, as tight as I could get them, to my shoes. I always wore shoes when I skated. Sneakers didn’t work so well. The skates often came loose. I can still see in my mind’s eye the skate hanging loose attached only by the strap, not by the shoe. You always exaggerated the lift of the hanging skate on the walk to the curb.

Today is a day to languish on the lounge dressed to the nines with a wet cloth over my eyes and a tray of bonbons beside me. I will moan dramatically every now and then to punctuate my situation. A few words of comfort and an endless supply of chocolate would be perfect to heal the soul, with an emphasis on the chocolate.

I have no plans for today which take even the tiniest amount of energy. The bonbons should come unwrapped.

Yesterday and last night we had rain. Only a few clouds are left and more are disappearing, pushed away by the sun. Rain comes back tomorrow. Today is warm, already 53˚, and it will get warmer. I noticed the tip of a hyacinth in the front yard has popped. I can see purple. The daffodil bulbs too are beginning to show their colors. I see yellow and white. Spring is in the wings itching for her turn.

My house is relatively clean if you stay out of the kitchen. That floor is always a mess of paw prints. I make plans to wash it then it rains. Plans dashed. Washing the floor today was on the top of my to-do list so I am responsible for the forecast of rain tomorrow. I don’t know which is worse: living with that paw-painted floor or washing it just before the rain. I’m thinking I can’t take that floor anymore.

My father ran a company which provided sand blasting equipment and materials. 3M once sent a plane for the walnut shells only my father’s company had. When we were in Europe, my father saw a sand blaster and made me take his picture in front of it. That became part of every trip. Find a sandblaster. Another part of every trip was my father pointing to a poo pile. It started in the barn of the farm B&B where we stayed in Belgium. He pointed to it so I wouldn’t step on it. In France he pointed to a pile on the beach. In England, it was a London sidewalk. I have all the slides. My father is smiling in all of them.

I have been a sloth most of this week. I’ve sweatshirt-sleeve dusted a few tables, rearranged some baskets and put some Nala targets away, but that is getting more and more impossible. Did I mention Nala’s newest? I heard banging on the stairs and then in the kitchen. That’s when I investigated. Nala was trying to steal a 608 page hard-cover, The President’s Daughter. Nala had gotten it off my bedside table and down the stairs. She was trying to get it out the dog door but she kept dropping it and giving herself away. I saved the book. Maybe Nala should try smaller books.