still loving winter

According to today's Lenten meditation it's officially the first day of spring today. And just this morning I was loving the cold :)

Yes I still love the cold. Take that. [Not to invalidate the feelings of those who do not like the cold, of course. But I refuse to apologize for my joy. Besides, it's New England, who actually expects warm weather before April at the earliest?]

Monday

Yeah, definitely a slow day today.

morning: caught up on LJ

lunch: Millionaire

Annulary is a fancy term for which body part?
+ ring finger
+ nostril
+ big toe
( Answer )

Yeah Spanish class. (Or maybe Latin.) I knew almost before the answers came up. Bonus, no one else thought I was right.

The phrase "warts and all" comes from which historical figure's request as to how he wished to be painted?
+ Richard III
+ Henry VIII
+ Oliver Cromwell
( Answer )

I had heard this story before but definitely didn't remember who it was.

afternoon: worked on CSI writeups (23 episodes, oy)

[Lent: day 20/40]

Christ as a Gardener
-Andrew Hudgins

The boxwoods planted in the park spell LIVE.
I never noticed it until they died.
Before, the entwined green had smudged the word
unreadable.  And when they take their own advice
again—come spring, come Easter—no one will know
a word is buried in the leaves.  I love the way
that Mary thought her resurrected Lord
a gardener.  It wasn't just the broad-brimmed hat
and muddy robe that fooled her: he was that changed.
He looks across the unturned field, the riot
of unscythed grass, the smattering of wildflowers.
Before he can stop himself, he's on his knees.
He roots up stubborn weeds, pinches on the suckers,
deciding order here—what lives, what dies,
and how.  But it goes deeper even than that.
His hands burn and his bare feet smolder.  He longs
to lie down inside the long, dew-moist furrows
and press his pierced side and his broken forehead
into the dirt.  But he's already done it—
passed through one death and out the other side.
He laughs.  He kicks his bright spade in the earth
and turns it over.  Spring flashes by, then harvest.
Beneath his feet, seeds dance into the air.
They rise, and he, not noticing, ascends
on midair steppingstones of dandelion,
of milkweed, thistle, cattail, and goldenrod.

from Praying the Gospels through Poetry: Lent to Easter by Peggy Rosenthal (Cincinnati, Ohio: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2002.) p. 25

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Happy vernal equinox.