The succulents on our front steps look so beautiful after the rain.

A visit to Grandpa’s house means dog spit, hair and barking, Coors Light, cheese crackers, giant weeds, root beer, chips and salsa, theological debate, playing in the sandbox, grilled sausage and peppers, a walk to the playground, indecent desserts and a sleepy ride home.

I found this little guy sitting on a table at the church rummage sale today. His ticking is loud and he sits on my desk and keeps me company.

I just love these little guys. Several times a day I open the tray lid, lower my face down to them and breathe in their warm, brown breath. Soon they will each have proper names, and we will take turns reading poetry and singing to them.

The sound of Noah learning how to hammer nails on our front steps rang through the neighborhood, acting as a beacon to all knights neighbors within hearing range.

“Before beginning a hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it.” – Winnie the Pooh Things here are still brown and gray, so we hearty Northern types have to hunt for Colour in March. We found a marble, played Pooh Sticks, collected rocks, and endured A Perilous Crossing. I think five is my favorite age.

On our way to the shops in the upper village, we always stop by the memorial park to greet the lion in the fountain. He doesn’t start spitting water until April.

A little one acting not quite right. A pizza lunch at the amphitheater, sheltered from the drizzle. A visit to the library. A confession: a sore throat since morning. A quick ride home. A fever. A bed.