Spring? Dare we hope?

The cold snap has finally broken. I’m too much a northerner to believe that this thaw is the first gasp of spring, well and truly. After all, my grandmother still has stories of snow in May. But the two foot of snow has turned into three times as much water and the cattle water melts during the day. It’s been a long hard bitch riding out the winter this year, and I’m not one to complain about cold. I notice it, but I much prefer it to 98 degrees and that much humidity. It’s good to feel heat from the sun again, have blue skies, and feel a cool breeze on your face that doesn’t steal the air from your lungs.

We went and saw Patricia Briggs read and answer questions on her new book Bone Crossed last night in Ann Arbor. I’ve loved her writing since I was mid-teens, so it was awesome to see her in person. She really seems lovely and I can see why her writing is so good. We didn’t stick around for the signing, I was getting cagey being around so many people in close quarters, and we had an hour and a half trip home, so we met Joe for beer instead. :-) Priorities ya know. I took a long weekend after finishing the roughest rough draft ever on the second Taylor book, which has involved shopping and reading. And laundry. My aunt and uncle were up this weekend so a family dinner was in there as well. Dana came too [by the way, Kathy, if you want to get in touch with my mom, I can email you her contact info], which was interesting. But I guess it’s always good when ex-families get along.

So today is kinda slow, the first day semi-back to work after a long weekend. I have writing group tonight and I think I’m helping Dad and his cousin dump sap buckets for making maple syrup. Help is always there the first few days, but where do all the volunteers go? So if there are profuse amounts of beer involved in sap gathering, it might be more prudent not to drive into the mall. We’ll see. It’s pretty cool though. My great-grandfather, Lewis, set up the sugar shack on the back of his farm and they still use most of his gear (washed of course) and the shack all these years later. Grampa Lewis died just a few years before I was born, but everyone says he would have gotten a kick out of the fact that we still use his setup.

P.S. I read Twilight by Stephanie Meyer over the weekend. Am I the only one on earth who thinks it’s… ah-hem… not that great?