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The window's frozen but the birds are singing

While picking up sticks in the yard last week wearing boots and the long down coat I’m ready to burn at this point in April, I decided enough is enough.

I’m going to pretend it’s really spring, not just technically spring. I’m ready to fake it, force it, will it. No more chunky turtlenecks, mile-long scarves or dark hosiery. Fewer hearty soups; more cold salads.

When an email arrived Tuesday with “87 Reasons to Use Your Slow Cooker this Spring” typed in the subject line, I immediately deleted it. No more slow cooker, either.

I know it may be a tad early to pull out the sandals. Early one recent morning, I went to open my window at a drive-through and discovered it was frozen shut. I had to open my door once to place my coffee order and once again to pick it up. Awkward.

A few days after that, I was brushing snow off my car. I also notice that some dogs are still sporting coats and sweaters on their morning walks.

That tells you something – but I’m not listening. I’m pretending it’s really spring, remember?

As part of my mission, I gathered the long branches of faux forsythia stored in the basement, plunked them into an old watering can and placed them on the porch. I had already hung the forsythia wreath on the front door earlier this month. Now when I pull into the driveway, I see bursts of yellow.

Next, and this is a small thing, really, I replaced the tired-looking bottle of nearly empty liquid hand soap at the kitchen sink with a new one in a fragrance called “White Tea & Fig.” I’m done with the scents I associate with winter. Pine, cinnamon, vanilla ... and certainly ones that go by names such as Frosty Windowpane. Brrrr.

I finally packed up the large pine cones sprinkled with glitter that I keep in a bowl in the living room during the winter. They are sooo December.

That’s not all. “See this sweater I’m wearing today?” I asked a coworker a few days ago. “You won’t see it again. I’m washing it and putting it away. I’m done wearing it.”

And, as often happens to me this time of year, I get in the mood to sweep. I sweep the kitchen floor with one broom. The garage floor with another. Before long, I’ll move along to the front porch, the back patio and, especially, the door mats. Sweeping is satisfying. I even once devoted a column to it.

“I love the sound this flat broom makes. Swish, swish, swish, swish. Once I get started swinging, there is no stopping me,” I wrote.

More importantly, sweeping isn’t shoveling.

Still, I gave in and wore my long down coat to walk the dog on cold mornings this week. But I removed the detachable, bulky faux-fur trimmed hood.

I'm tired of it. Besides, I didn’t want the hood to muffle the sounds of the birds tweeting.

Tweeting, they were.

For real.

*Look back at last week's column, on organizing:

An organizing pro has some ideas for you


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