Today’s horoscope, as written by me: “Spring is just around the corner — and you know which one. Stand still and the groundhog might fall back asleep. But get moving and flowers will bloom in your wake.”

Thanks to Karen (and Harry and Ron) for the inspiration for today’s post.

This was supposed to be a weekend of relaxation: we were headed to Boston for a concert with some friends and then Rudi would head north to ski while I headed down to Connecticut to visit the family and maybe some friends.

Friday morning dawned and I immediately knew I was in trouble. The tickle in the back of the throat was becoming a full-on cold. I went back to sleep, took some cold meds, and then slept through the entire state of Maryland.

As we reached Boston, it was time to replenish the medicine, but I could tell things were not looking great. I spent the entire KT Tunstall concert (she was amazing, btw!) curled up on a sofa on the balcony of the theater, feeling hot and achy. By the middle of the night I was waking up every ten minutes to pull the covers back up to my chin because my body was under the impression that Sam and Alexis’ spare bedroom was freezing. It wasn’t, but my fever had spiked.

I was okay the next morning, but by the time I caught up with my folks at the Holyoke mall, I was slipping downward again, fighting off chills and hot flashes. Mum and Dad tucked me under blankets in Gramma’s sitting room and let me doze away the afternoon.

Last night we watched In Her Shoes, which was charming in a way that belied its box office reception, while eating pizza in front of a crackling fire.

Today I started to feel a bit better — in time to have one of Dad’s cranberry scones, some of Mum’s yummy Chicken Divan, and a piece of Gramma’s coffee cake and to open some fun birthday presents from Mum and Dad.

But feeling better is not being well, and I was asleep in the car before we were ten minutes down the road. Luckily, we were home by midnight, so after an hour of putting things away, reading the mail and email, feeding the cats, and winding down, I’m headed to bed.

Back to jury duty in the morning!

Surprisingly to me, apparently my deep tiredness was not merely a case of being in denial about the state of my knitting two (TWO!) days before the end of the Knitting Olympics.

Because I took a two-hour nap last night before I finished knitting sock number 3 (which is waiting patiently to come off the needles now that I’m not half-asleep), took another 1 1/2 hour nap while Rudi futzed around last night, and then still managed to sleep past noon today.

Hopefully I have officially refilled my sleep deficit now and will be able to stay awake until bedtime and then go to bed at a reasonable hour. The evening nap and wee hours bedtime was getting old.

Knitting Olympics update: As mentioned above, the third bootie is, essentially, finished. The exciting thing about this bootie is that it was knit in the round and therefore actually resembles the item it’s destined to be (and, as such, has no seams to knit up!).

This also marks the first time I have intentionally looked at a pattern and thought, how can I adapt this to make it better? Sure, that’s because I misread the pattern originally. But it would have been easy enough (if painful to the soul) to frog the wrong portion and start again. But I thought to myself that I had just finished a pair of socks in the round and there was no eartly reason why these couldn’t be knit in a similar fashion. And I was right! Hooray!

A great column on the etymology of the daffodil, appeared last week in Britain’s Guardian newspaper: Daffy days.

So far, the 32nd birthday has been a fine one. In between fielding phone calls and emails from my nearest and dearest (all of whom were sweet enough to wait to phone until I rolled out of bed several hours late), I’ve managed to break out the blueberry scone stash, learn of a friend’s impending nuptuals (inconveniently double-booked with another wedding on a different coast), get myself a new driver’s license, and see The Pink Panther, complete with large popcorn and soda. Oh, and I wore the newly completed socks to wander around in (they do not make an appearance in my license photo, however).

I’m running out to the store now to buy some confectioner’s sugar to make some Buttercream frosting (Cakelove, eat your heart out; Mum’s recipe is just as good as yours) to put on the heart-shaped mini cakes I’m going to bake in the pans Karen gave me a few years back.

Tonight will probably involve pizza — what is a birthday without pizza, really? — as well as some Olympic watching (it is Valentine’s Day after all, and Rudi does enjoy the snow-based sports), present and card opening, and knitting.

It’s not a big, fancy birthday, but it is a relaxing one. And since I head to St. Louis Friday morning to work a holiday weekend, it’s probably exactly what I need.

PS: I’d like to wish Jason, my birthday twin, a very happy birthday out in the Bay area. He had to go to work today (!!), but I hope his day involves a late arrival, a long lunch, and an early dismissal. Plus cake. Happy birthday, Jas!

I’ve been like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for today’s snowstorm to arrive.

It was three years ago this week when D.C. last had a major snowstorm. The dates are lodged in my brain because we were in the process of moving down here from Connecticut. Rudi had come back to pick up me (and our futon) after my final two weeks of work and instead got socked in by a blizzard. Connecticut got snowed in; D.C. got wholly overwhelmed.

The snow had stopped here on Monday, I believe, but by the time we arrived two nights later, the mayor was still promising a single, passable lane on every city road sometime by the end of the week.

It seriously made me wonder what I’d gotten myself into when they eventually had to import snow plows and drivers from New Jersey (who had already finished their plowing there) to come down and dig us out.

An inch or two of snow sends the federal government scrambling to get out of the city. The mere threat of winter precipitation can be enough to preemptively cancel school in the ‘burbs.

But, at heart, I’m a New England girl. I expect (nay, like) snow in winter, and D.C. has lacked that. We haven’t even really had that much cold weather. Don’t get me wrong — I like the occasional 65 degree day in the middle of winter. But if I’d wanted it to be a regular feature, I would have moved further south.

So when the weather forecasters started talking snow for this weekend, I allowed myself to believe they could get it right this time. I imagined that there was a possibility that we might get a few inches. And as the week progressed and the anticipated accumulation started to rise, my delight grew.

Last night the meteorologists said that the storm was moving more slowly than expected (why do they always seem surprised by that down here?) and that the morning would dawn with rain and that the snow would move in during the afternoon and last until midday Sunday.

Well, it’s heading toward evening here and the precipitation has just morphed from rain to sleet (much to Posey’s utter delight, sending her bounding for the window when the ice pellets began to bounce off the air conditioner) and now to snow.

Think snowy thoughts for us. Think snowmen and angels. Think streets deserted by cars and filled with revellers. Think thick wool socks and mittens. Think the crisp smell that promises more white stuff falling soon. Think catching snow flakes on your tongue and your eye lashes. Think hot cocoa and grilled cheese and tomato soup. Think school (and work) cancellations. Think double digit accumulation. Think bright blue sky and dazzling white ground following the storm’s end. Think snow!