Signs of spring

Nah, no croci or bunnies here.  But even more exciting, as I drove out of our neighborhood on my way to work today, I saw this:

I knew right away what it was, and my heart skipped a beat: the trail of the street sweeper!  Clearing the side of the road of the 6 inches or so of crap made up of sand, cinders, and I'm guessing pieces of the big chunks of road that have been removed during pothole formation.  There's a lot more work to do, but this gave me hope that I will be out there on my bike soon.  I was at a stop sign when I took this, and sure enough, when I turned the corner, I saw the sweeper itself.  But safe driver that I am, I decided not to pick up my phone and take a picture while driving.

Here's another sure sign of spring, from last night:

Yes, I actually like--no, love--Shamrock Shakes, and I don't want to hear any s*** about it.  Although even I could do without this new addition of whipped cream and cherry--it's a milkshake, for pete's sake, not a sundae.  There are probably 3 people in the state who like these.  I say this because I've found that, a couple months from now, if you ask, most McDonald's will still have them.  I don't want to think about what kind of mix they use that lasts that long, but I will tell you that last June I stopped at a turnpike McDonalds west of here and got a Shamrock Shake. So apparently there's not a big market for this item.

Here's one of the other 2 people in Massachusetts who like them:

When I met Nancy about 8 years ago, there were some clear signs we were destined to be friends: daughters born on each other's due dates, the same platonic crush on our pediatrician, shared love of running and biking, tendency to wear stripes, absurdly competitive streaks.  But the Shamrock Shake thing really sealed the deal for me.

My own Patrick claimed that Thursday was a "hard day" for him, because his friends at preschool kept running up to him and telling him it was his special day.  No, I don't understand that, either.  But he seemed to have recovered by this morning, when he saw me off for work like so:

That's a "bow" made of some long-dead glowstick thing, plus a knight's hood.  And yet with all that ridiculousness, my eyes are drawn to that ugly, ugly hunk of dirty snow and ice behind him.  Is there anything uglier than this leftover snow in March?  (The obvious answer: the leftover snow in April.  Please, God, no.)