It’s raining. Again. It’s rained for the last six days. I’m beginning to think I’m in Vancouver, not River City.
The grass is growing, and so are the dandelions. It looks horrible. But we can’t mow it because, of course, it’s raining. The only consolation is that everyone else’s lawn looks the same way. For the same reason.
We have plants to plant. They are getting potbound. But we can’t plant them because it’s raining. Now, before you think I’m a total wimp who can’t get her not-so-dainty feet wet, let me say that we’re not talking a misty-type rain here. It’s buckets, folks. It only stops at night when you can’t do anything outside.
And it’s chilly, too.
Reminds me of my first spring in Germany, when it rained for a month straight and the temp never got above 68F.
Brrrr. Coffee and a good book weather.
And West Wing’s ended.
Monday’s my day off. Maybe I’ll just go back to bed and try to get warm.