It was a whopping 65 degrees in the Motor City Tuesday. I've ditched my coat, my down vest, mittens, hat and heavy wool pants. I'm back to wearing scrubs with just a little scrub jacket. Everything looks lighter and brighter and while the only greenery I can see are, besides my Irish colleague's shamrock painted nails, new shoots of weeds, I'm reminded summer is right around the corner.
It feels so good to have the warmth of the sun on my face. It also feels good to be out doing my job during the light of day. Though more people are out, at least I can see where I'm going, or more importantly, who else is out there with me.
A couple of weeks ago, before the big kerfuffle over at The Women's Colony brought daily missives to a relative halt, I read somewhere, I think in Friday Confessions, that someone there hates the Beatles. Really? She (or he) just didn't get their popularity.
Abbey Road makes me think of spring. In fact, it's my policy that spring cleaning doesn't happen unless Abbey Road is on.
While I may never change the minds of certain WC readers, they can go listen to Lady Gaga or some other such illustrious talent. For the rest of you, and my loan officer, I offer a taste of Abbey Road. No, we still don't have an answer on the mortgage. We have no information left to offer except maybe the results of yet to be scheduled colonoscopies.