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2003-03-08 - 12:04 p.m.

It’s March and I’m itching to take a trip. I mentioned this to a friend of mine yesterday and she suggested I pump the heat up to 90 in the house, lounge in my swimming suit and pull out the bottle of Jamaican rum I’ve got stashed in the cabinet—this was at 10 a.m.—and send my mind on a vacation.

A tempting idea, but 10 a.m. is a little early to imbibe a150-proof cocktail so I decided not to haul out the rum bottle or put on a swimming suit. Instead I whiled away the time pouting and feeling very sorry for myself because I wasn’t on a pearly white sand beach enjoying the turquoise waters and a cold island beer. Not a good way to fritter away the day. It was a waste of time and by the end of the day I was grouchy and unbearable. I went to bed determined to shake the self-pity and pout and appreciate a nine-day reprieve from work.

Although I woke up at 5 this morning, I did go back to sleep and didn’t crawl out until almost 9—a rare occurrence for me over the past several weeks, and a sleep I hope is rejuvenating. It’s a typical Missouri March day, cold, gray, dreary and windy, but the Brew Crew ladies (all suffering from a lack of sun and water) plan to soak up the warmth of a hot tub and get soaked by a few cocktails.

There’s more than warm water brewing and bubbling in the hot tub, trouble is brewing for the summer-deprived Crew. We’re bored with the monotonous days of winter, anxious for summer, and we’ve behaved ourselves for too long. We’re craving orneriness.

The balmy, idyllic days of summer may still be a few months off, but today we can pretend.

Summer afternoon -- summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. - Henry James

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