I feel like him—just stuck in winter. No sense of time of year—no future, no past–just gray skies and crusty dingy snow piles. Just on the edge of crabby.

Snow boots with gripper soles, not pretty boots. I don’t want to die while stepping over snow dunes into the street. We move like old ladies, watching our feet–bundled in our New England basic–the black puffy coat. January, February, March–always the blur months. We’re waiting…

But while we’re waiting, let’s get ready to emerge! Wear a pastel sweater, try a pink lipstick instead of chapstik, cut your hair, clean your closet! Layer a summery top over your winter blacks. It will help!

Spring is coming! Start to prepare or you won’t be ready…and then you’ll really be crabby…

Practice smiling.

xoxox, Bren