Day Job.

The weather forecasts have been wrong for days in a row now. Friday we were supposed to get storms, and Saturday, sun. We got a weekend-long drizzle. Sometimes it rained. Yesterday was supposed to be nowhere near as nice as it was in the afternoon and evening, and today we were supposed to have showers. Instead, we got a kind of clouds-and-sun first-of-springtime redux, a harkening to what early March can sometimes be. Or, hell, I don't know: Maybe this is what April used to be like. They want to give us clouds and mid-forties tomorrow. I have no way to know whether or not they're kidding. All I know for sure and sure is that it looks — looks — like we've maybe had our last freeze. Which only means it's bound to freeze soon. We picked up a hard April freeze last year. The azaleas are all budding out. Here's hoping we hang on.

Keep it tuned here for what the weather was, then, and maybe keep it tuned to your own front porches for what the weather is. I think right now the fancies are just guessing. Last week I wore both flannel and flip-flops. Pretty easy to say this week will be the same. Maybe I should quit all this learning business and go stand in front of a weather map. I can point at the big red L and the big blue H, I bet. I can say Cold front. I can say Unsettled atmospheric conditions. I can say But folks, we need that rain.

So: Current conditions for Greensboro: Getting dark, and a little cool. Clouds building in. Towhees coming back to their nests in the boxwoods along the back of the house. Beagles barking. I haven't turned on any lights in the house yet. Half a half-cold beer here next to me on the table. OK day teaching. I was steadfastly average. I did show the kids in my afternoon Suburbs class how to plant a container garden. We're all of us, starting this week, growing our own front lawns. From seed. In containers. Some hairbrained idea I had about all these silver-spooners being in more intimate contact with the land. Turns out planting a container garden (basil, marigold, begonia, grass seed) in front of 24 22-year-olds is a little like being the host of the strangest cooking show of all time. And when we come back, we'll talk about soil conditioners. Don't touch that dial.