The promise of spring is in the air - it is still cool in the mornings, but the air has life in it now, and the explosion of green and the blooming flowers in my yard all point to one thing:

Allergies.

But allergies, schmallergies! It is also short-sleeve weather, and that is so, so good for my moods. And my activity level, too. I keep promising myself I'll make time. I'll do it! I'll exercise! Vigorously!

And then? Not so much.

But here is springesque weather, and my practically brand-new walking shoes are sitting here, and my super-awesome bike is waiting in the garage, and I'm out of excuses.

I'm totally, totally out of excuses, except for a few that I can muster rather feebly.

Today, however, I will leap from my house and tear up the asphalt with my fierce exercising. Perhaps I will ride around the neighborhood honking and waving at the neighbors on my bike. Maybe I will walk the dog like I'm supposed to.

Maybe I'll do both. This never ends well, though. I blog about my good intentions, go blasting out the door and then two days later, fall short of my high-falutin' plans.

What I really need to do this weekend is make a plan for my sad, sad yard. I've got a front-front yard that is looking mighty-fine, and an inside front yard that is a ring of brownish plant matter implanted in a muddy plot. I can't even begin to tell you how sad it is.

See? This weather makes me want to garden, too. I want to build raised gardening boxes in the back yard (I have a space! Great sun!) and have lettuce and peppers and one small tomato plant and maybe some other stuff like strawberries! Yes!

And then I look at my mud-patch and heave a sigh. I have no business trying to grow anything.

I might do it anyway. How hard can it be to make a little garden?

(All you gardeners out there are howling and shaking your heads.)