When the Wonder Boy woke up this morning, he started talking, as he always does, about trains. From across the hall came his voice, reciting facts about Mallet-type cab-forward engines. The first thing out of his mouth was a large chunk of text from a train video he hasn't seen for a few weeks about how the winter of 1952-53 brought record snows to the Sierra Nevada and yet the Southern Pacific snow-clearing crew kept the rails clear and the trains moving. He does that a lot. You ask him if he would like more juice and he'll answer some statistic about the tractive effort of the Union Pacific Big Boy. It's part of the work that I do with him to stop him and make him answer the question I asked, and then he can return to his favorite topic. He's getting the hang of it.
But in the morning, it's a birdsong of train facts. I like listening to it. Before we moved him to a bed, when he was still in his crib, he could chatter on happily for an hour if I left him to it. And this morning, it meant that he woke up feeling himself. Which means that I will feel better two days from now.
Here's the backyard Iceberg from where I sit. It's slightly smaller now. It is melting to reveal that the snow plow has scraped much of the gravel from the driveway onto the lawn, so that if I don't get out there soon, I will spend most of April on my hands and knees picking rocks out of the grass before we can mow. There's some sunshine today, and the grass actually looks a bit green. The buds on the lilacs are swelling, and the boxwood have taken on a glossy quality, like there's sap flowing in there.
In knitting news, I'm fifteen rows from finishing the right front of the ballet neck cardigan. It looks pretty much the same as it did yesterday. I still think I'm going to graft the shoulder seams.