It's a little alarming to go to bed with Doug and wake up with Barry White

Doug has a cold. And when he gets a cold, he sounds like this guy:


He walks around the house sniffling and saying, "Oh, yeah. Oooohhhhhhh yeaaaaaaaaah," in this unnatural bass voice that gets deeper as the "yeaaaaaaaaah" progresses.

When I get a cold--which I have not yet had this winter, but just wait, I'm sure it's lurking out there--I sound like her:



Husky, that is. I don't suddenly develop a French accent. (Though wouldn't it be sexy if I did.)

(You get two posts today, because neither one is particularly interesting.)

Signs of spring

Puddles!

Extremely noisy sparrows

One very loudly singing cardinal

People without jackets

Bald men without hats

Squinting (in Tuesday's sunshine)

Raindrop-dodging (in Wednesday's shower)

Little muddy pawprints (all through our house)

A fast-dwindling snowpack, which reveals dogturds gardenhoses flowerpots plasticpopbottles deadleaves paperwrappers oldnewspapers

For-sale signs (including three in our little neighborhood--including, sadly, Yoko's house)

Open windows

Rosy sunrises and late sunsets

44 degrees on the bank thermometer

Francisco Liriano throwing off the mound

It's not here yet. But it's on its way. I'd say that ice-skating season is officially over.