Small comforts

As a lifelong New Englander, I’ve gotten used to gloomy springs. March, generally, is just enough warmer than February to transform the latter’s day after day disgusting slush into day after day of cold, slides-under-your-collar-and-down-your-shivering-spine rain. April is much the same, with the exception of requiring a slightly lighter coat. But most years there are two things to help us slog through this dank, depressing season. One is my first and undying love: Red Sox baseball. This, thank God, continues as usual, and two World Series in four years does a lot to keep me warm. The other is the very occasional, but unspeakably glorious, warm, clear, sunny, begs-you-to-play-hooky-and-frolic day that interrupts in the regularly scheduled programming of 35-degree rain. The cruel and fickle weather gods have denied us this promise of things to come this year, and I blame my resulting Vitamin D deficiency for my terminal lethargy the last several months.

There is, however, one tiny, tiny bright side: This is fabulous knee-socks weather. And I loooove my fabulous knee socks.

Purple knee socks!

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One Response

  1. Things aren’t much better here in Illinois either. Love the knee socks.

    My best to you.

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