In the past week several people have said to me, "only four more weeks til Spring!" and your heart would swell with admiration for my benevolent response which held the swift karate chop to their grinning face in check.

I'm not sure what planet they live on, it would appear that these same folks have lived in this region as long (or longer!) than I have so how could they possibly delude themselves into thinking that there was anything remotely resembling Spring on the horizon?

Perhaps they are on drugs? Now that I think about it, two of these comments were directed at me while I was in the waiting room of the doctor's office. A podiatrist, let's remember who is administering the weekly shot of alcohol into my toe-- could there be something FAR BETTER being offered in another room down the hall?

Because for the record, aside from the swollen black and purple bruise on my sweet foot and the need to now LIMP as it hurts too much to walk normally, the injections have not provided much change.

Perhaps they have a different meaning for the word Spring? It seems possible that when they say "Spring" what they really mean is mushy snow and temps in the 40s, whereas when I say "Spring" I am thinking of blooming magnolia trees and the scent of viburnum in the air.

And, as I gaze upon another 12+ inches of snow shaking down from the sky to settle over the shoulders of this house like a comfortable, old cardigan-- I can only guess that I got it right the first time --

THEY ARE ON DRUGS.

This is when you wonder how a person who is not particularly enamored with the six-month variety of the winter season copes. Well, this is why I say, art saves lives.

For instance, on the pale blue wall of the dining room is a framed print of Jennifer Hill's Andalucia. As I have actually been to this part of the world and am therefore once of those incredibly obnoxious people who pronounce it An-dula-THEE-a --- for me to gazae upon this bright, cheerful, spirited loveliness is to bring oranges and perfume and fabulous tile and late dinners and even later indulgent mornings followed by gorgeous coffee to mind.

It sits right next to the window, so I can choose where to focus my thoughts. THIS is what they mean by functional art, people.

In fact, if it were a kid in fourth grade getting a mid-term report I might add, HIGHLY functional art!

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