Saturday, February 18, 2012


The Wonderfully Patient Spouse and I are embarking on a couple home improvement projects in the coming weeks, which today required trips to Lowe's and Home Depot to look at closet organizers and bathroom vanities.

(I, of course, also insisted we squeeze in a view of cooktops as well. I think the WPS is coming around!)

Multi-taskers that we are, we stopped at the venerable Fred Meyer's for grocery (me) and jeans (WPS) shopping. And guess what? Mission accomplished on both fronts.

Total retail awesomeness.

There was a display rack laden with primroses at the entrance of store. And I had to stop. I had to stop and absorb the pleasant jolt of their vivid colors and quirky, rumpled green leaves for a minute. It reminded me of a lost world, the world called summer.

I found myself reaching to put three pots in my shopping cart. They would be perfect in the planter box we hang on the railing by our front door. And then I stopped. Seasonal memory kicked in.

Primroses are the Meteorological Kiss of Death.

When I buy primroses and put them in the planter box we hang by the front door, it rankles the Weather Gods. Inevitably, my efforts to hurry along spring result in some apocalyptic late February snow fall three days later. With that in mind, I settle for a photo -- and go off in search of rotisserie chicken.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

And lined with primroses.

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