It’s supposed to be 66 degrees out tomorrow. Upon seeing the weather forecast, Ron installed the new headlight on my bike so I can go for a ride tomorrow evening when I get home.
I’ve got a hyacinth coming up in the front flowerbed, but I’m not sure how well it’s going to do, because it was completely glazed with ice and seemed to be that slightly-too-vibrant shade of green that plants get when they’ve frozen all the way through. Ron says the growth starts underground, so it should be OK. I hope he’s right. The hyacinths — which someone planted before we moved here — were absolutely stunning last year, and I’d hate to lose them just because they tried to sprout too early.
It was warm enough this afternoon that I had to roll down my windows while sitting in rush hour traffic. Two teenyboppers in a car next to me at a stoplight had their windows down, too, and I could hear them discussing the perils of “flat hair” before they turned on the radio and began singing (off-key) and wiggling along with the Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week.” I tried not to laugh, lest they see me and get all embarrassed, but they were pretty funny. I think the February thaw makes everybody a little goofy….
Today’s warmer temperatures apparently inspired the entire population of Tulsa to wash the leftover winter muck off their vehicles. When I left work at 5 p.m., a half-dozen SUVs were lined up at the drive-through car wash next to the gas station behind our office. I can’t say I blame them. This morning, I scraped a thin layer of frost off my windshield, then moved around to the back to help out the defroster, which didn’t seem to be doing much. I figured out what the problem was when I saw the little skiff of black gunk on my new scraper’s shiny blade. Rear defrosters are great on ice, but I’ve never seen one yet that could melt off road salt and grime.
If I were less lazy, I’d wash the car on my lunch hour tomorrow, but what I’ll probably do instead is call Sara over at Midtown and ask her for the phone number of those guys who used to come out to her office and wash everybody’s cars for $10. I’m supposed to go to dinner with my ubertidy friend Vicki tomorrow, and it would be nice if I could offer to drive without fear of contaminating her clothing with dog hair, fast-food-wrapper residue, or that mystery dirt that seems to grow in unattended cupholders. The mobile car wash guys will actually throw out all the trash, corral all the clutter in a box in the back of the car, vacuum out all the dog hair, wipe down the cupholders, and squeegee the insides of the windows as part of their basic car wash.
Maybe I’ll call them tomorrow and take before-and-after shots to put on Indie Tulsa. If they’re still in business — and I don’t know why they wouldn’t be, given their convenience and value — they’re certainly deserving of a little publicity.