Okay, so Spring is coming but I'm still crabby.

Ok, I yield. I'm ready for Spring. BRING IT ON! We had a lovely, big snow (though not the 10-14-inch event we were promised--still 6 inches is nothing to sneeze at the first week of March in Southern New Jersey) and now I'm ready.

The weather has been tantalizingly warm. Not very sunny, mind, but still, warm enough to shrug off the outer layers of wool and fleece and venture outdoors in one's shirtsleeves. We rode home from church with the sunroof cracked and blared a song I know I should hate but like anyway ("Man, I Feel Like a Woman").

No hints of green yet, besides in the grocery store floral departments which are all screaming themselves silly with promises of Spring Happiness if you'll only buy yourself some premature blooms! Parking lots still have mounds of yucky, dirty snow in the far corners. But last night, I heard it. I was kneeling by the open window breathing in the fresh, warm air (as I am wont to do this time of year) before climbing into bed and I heard it. The first, slow peeps of what could only be about 2 intrepid tree frogs. They must be lonely, those two lone frogs. I admit, it still feels a little early for them, I'm not quite ready to pack the flannels away yet, but it was still magical to hear them for the first time. In another week, they'll all be singing us to sleep.

I am still recovering from this long, lingering illness and feeling like an invalid. I just can't seem to get my strength back and am wondering if I need The Viking to carry me up the nearest Alpine mountain so I can drink bowlfuls of fresh goat's milk and eat hunks of fresh goat cheese and breathe in the fresh mountain air and get the roses back in my cheeks. Except there is nothing that even resembles an Alpine mountain in the Delaware Valley (hello, it's a valley) and goat's milk gives me hives. Not the kind of rosiness I'm looking for.

I must say, having now spent almost an entire week ensconced on the couch with nothing but the Wii and tv remotes to keep me company, that public television has really let me down. I love PBS, I watch it more than any other network. We only have antenna service, not even basic cable, so PBS is usually my only hope when it comes to prolonged tv viewing. I can usually count on it for my favorite Britcoms, Masterpiece Theater, Mystery! and the like. But, this week, the very week I am convalescing? It's pledge week. And, you would think they'd pull out all the stops and run their very best programming, but instead it seems their sole purpose is to drive me screaming into the hills. If I see one more "seminar" about how to care for my heart or heal my brain, I'm going to have to start watching the CW network! And the concerts, my stars, the concerts! People I've never heard of, pairing up with other people I have heard of and would rather punish myself by collecting garbage than by listening to them! It's been terrible! What I really needed this week was an episode of Rosemary & Thyme, or a re-run of a Miss Marple on Mystery! But, no. Instead there was Boz Scaggs, Andrea Boccelli and Katherine McPhee singing old, played-out dentist-office music with people like Kevin Costner doing voice-overs in between.

I did too much this weekend (Man-Cub's birthday party last night followed by church this morning AND losing an hour of sleep--heinous) and am scheduling a nice long repose couchward. And do you know what's on our two PBS channels? Dudu Fisher in concert from Israel, Celtic Woman: The Greatest Journey, Ed Slott's Stay Rich For Life, and the mysterious-sounding-but-I'm-not-getting-my-hopes-up Masterpiece Classic. AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!

This just might drive me to Netflix. The Viking's been trying to get me to sign up for months.

So, yay, Spring is here, but until I'm feeling able to be up and around, it's not enough to ease my quality programming needs!