It's spring!

Rain has taken over and did a fairly good washing of streets and sidewalks yesterday. Hopefully New England will have a significant decrease in the winter grime that's built up over two months without a break of snow-covered ground. Although I'm sure it'll take a few more storms to really rinse all of the crud out.

It's so odd to see bare lawns. Seriously. I didn't realize how much I'd come to blank out the dirt-covered snow that was everywhere since mid-January. Of course, thanks to two months of blanketing, everyone's lawns look horrible right now. I hope the snow plus rain leads to very green lawns come May.

Erich and I had a nice weekend up in Maine. The weather was beautiful-- low 40's during the days with brilliant sunshine. The nights were below freezing, but that was to be expected. It's March... in midcoast Maine. I did get a few pictures while we were up there, and forgot to take others. (I'll get those uploaded tonight.)

Erich's mom has finished the renovations to her little apartment, and both of us were amazed at how good it looked. When she first moved into the little apartment, it was so dark. I was honestly worried that it would lead to depression because it was small and dreary. But I have to admit, she made some wonderful changes to her portion of the house. Lots of new windows. A repositioning of the doorway. It looks open, warm, and inviting-- and looks much larger than the 600 or so square feet that it actually is.

She's doing well. The move to Maine was a good one for her. Erich's worried that she's relying too much on her wheelchair. But otherwise, she seems healthy and happy. And ultimately, that's what's important.

Oh-- and she called me Daughter this weekend and expressed how happy she is to finally have one. (hee!) After all of the years of hearing horror stories about mothers-in-law, it seems that I'll buck that trend... hopefully forever. She and I are able to sit and chat. I like her. I'm not able to call either of Erich's parents by their first names yet, though. It just seems-- weird. I just don't know them well enough yet, I guess. A lot of it is fear of offending-- my parents (read=mostly dad) were kinda strict on the proper addressing for elders, after all.

We had Easter dinner on Saturday afternoon, rather than Sunday. Since it's a 4 to 5 hour drive home, we didn't want to get on the road too late on Sunday or have to rush through dinner. The ham that she bought was delicious. The blueberry pie did something stupid while baking and fell apart, but was salvaged over ice cream as topping. On Saturday night, she wanted to relax at home and do her leg therapy, so Erich and I had some alone time to go wandering. We both were craving lobster rolls, and since Red's isn't open yet for the season, we had to find another outlet. Maine seems to shut down by 9 p.m whenever we're there-- and at this time of year when very few places are open, 7 p.m. seemed late to find good luck on food, so finding a place early was key. We wound up at Cappy's Pub, which was a slightly claustrophobic seaside place. Not really a dive, per-say, but decorated to look like one. Very good lobster rolls. Fantastic haddock chowder. And good clam chowder, too. And yes-- it was white. Which is the only real clam chowder that should exist.

And yes, I realize I'm moving to Rhode Island, where they do things differently. My clam chowder, however, will remain white. thankyouverymuch.

We drank blueberry cream sodas and walked along the pier and the lighthouse. I got entirely too cold standing against the wind coming off the bay. And we danced across the somewhat firmer patches of ground to get into the apartment, avoiding the ever-present mud that pervades everything in Maine this time of year. When they say Mud Season, they mean Mud Season. It was extremely... mucky mud. All of that snowfall that has melted plus an unpaved driveway equals muddy ruts from hell.

And muddy cats

And muddy cars

And muddy clothes

Yet Erich's mom was wondering why we were leaving our shoes by the front door. You'd think she'd realize that after thirty years of demands to not track mud into the house, Erich and I have started actually listening to our parents...

seriously.