First rumblings

Sometime this morning, I'm going to go outside and swab down the poop deck.

This does not mean the Blob has gone nautical on ya'll, nor does it mean it harbors a secret desire to dress up like Horatio Nelson and march around issuing orders like "Come about, Mr. Christian," and "Avast, matey."  This means the Blob has a deck, and there is literally dog poop on it.

Hard to blame the dog, though. She's a 13-year-old sweetie who has arthritis in her hips, and so she struggles to get up and down the decks steps anymore. Also, last week when it was minus-WTF, she wasn't eager to venture very far from the back door.

So I've got a cleanup job to do.

All of this is a typically meandering Blob train of thought to illustrate that we are now in February, and why we hate February. We hate February because it is gray and mostly cold and follows two prior months that were gray and mostly cold. Also everyone's car, no matter the color, magically turns Road Salt White. Also potholes.

Also, well, dog poop on the deck, revealed when a warm spell hits and the snow melts off.

In other words, February is the month when winter becomes bleeping-bleep winter. It's when we begin dreaming in vivid chunks of green and blue because we haven't seen green and blue in weeks. It's when we feel compelled to throw open our windows on that one crazy February day when the mercury breaches 60.  It's when spring seems both impossibly distant and touchable at once.

This is February's saving grace, other than the fact it's the shortest month. It tells us winter is long, but spring is coming.

Because, in balance with all its negatives, comes one positive. Which the Blob offers this morning as a public service:

Pitchers and catchers report in a week, people.

You're welcome.