We have reached that point in the season where the weather is doing nothing but making an already untidy yard look more untidy, rendering us generally stir-crazy, and also reminding everyone just how much we suck at owning a home. Thanks Weather! Gone are the reds and yellows of maples and apple-trees, the quiet disarray of delicate, dry foilage strewn about the lawn. In their stead you will largely find guilt. Guilt and mud and decomposing leaves. I have not even planted the dahlia bulbs currently sprouting in my basement. In fact, I'm not even sure when you're supposed to plant the dahlia bulbs that probably should not be attempting to bloom in your basement. Now? Two weeks ago? Never? 'Oh that? That's not my yard. That's my mulch-pit,' I will say to the neighbors, as my future self sips a martini on the porch at 10am, in my pajamas, sunglasses, and silk dressing gown. Because that's what's going to happen if it does not quit raining for longer than 15 minutes every two weeks. I will have to stop caring and turn into Joan Collins in order to maintain a modicum of self worth. On the bright side, my basement will look lovely at mid-summer.