I have become my grandfather, crawling around the back yard digging dandelions out of the cruel ground. It’s a hopeless cause, and they only interrupt the white and blue of the violets and the green leaves of plantains. Here and there, a blade a green grass amongst the slowly browning leaves of the scilla, which some have called invasive, but are my favorite early spring flower (probably because they are invasive: They look good, spread, and are hard to kill). But for the dandelions, scilla, moss, assorted weeds, and plantains, my back yard would be bleak and barren dirt.

I’ve taken a break and am inside listening to San Fermin on YouTube trying to decide if I want to buy a ticket for their show Tuesday night. My hero, Paul Krugman, mentined them on his Friday night music blog post. That Allen Tate is not hard on the eyes. There’s a video of their record, so it’s taking a while. By the time I’m back in the yard, I’m sure the dandelions will have recovered and reseeded themselves. I gotta go close the garage door at least, although this time o’ the year, I think the snow blowers are safe.