This sounds like a medical post, and feels like one too since I'm just recovering from bronchitis. (Thought Dave would throw me out of the house the way I was coughing.) Seems like I've been sick a lot this winter so I'm very happy to see spring come in with the grass getting greener, crocuses popping up, turtles and frogs around our pond, and swelling buds on the lilac and forsythia bushes.
Yesterday felt like Christmas. I've been tossing old magazines, not renewing subscriptions, and getting books ready to donate to sales. Really felt virtuous. Then yesterday a friend brought two boxes of books he and his wife had finished, and another friend is bringing yet another bundle. Oh my! I'm so excited and anxious to read the books, but time is at a premium. My to-be-read pile just morphed into boxes of TBR.
Meanwhile, my reading time is greatly lessened by March Madness. Can't help it - I grew up in basketball country you know. Even President Obama's brackets have been shredded by the upsets this year. It's really exciting; if you like basketball at all, you should be watching. Small schools like St. Mary's and Northern Iowa are just racing up and down the floor leaving big guys in their wake.
The only problem with watching basketball on TV, or any other sport for that matter, is that the broadcasters and color commentators don't listen to what they're saying. They are so determined not to call things by their actual names that we hear about touchdowns in basketball and field goals in skiing for Pete's sake. Now they keep talking about players leaving their feet! Where do they leave them? Mine go with me wherever I go. :)
They tell us individual stories about players, and that can be interesting or heartwarming or whatever. But then they remind us every time that player touches the ball. Give it a rest already, would you? I almost threw something at the TV set during a Syracuse game, I think it was the conference championship game but I'm getting a little foggy about details at this point. At any rate, one of their star players had lost his mother a few days before the game. His father bravely sat in the stands watching his son play, and of course his face was on TV more than the game. The media just couldn't wait for him to cry. Finally after the game, he did cry and the camera stayed on him for waaaay toooooo looong. Don't television people have any humanity?
Despite my yelling at the TV, things are looking good around here. The deer are back every morning and evening and rabbits are wallowing in all that grass. Life is good.