I remember my seven years in New England, when March was still winter, April still cold and disappointing, and May heavenly. Not the case in DC, where warmer weather comes sooner. In fact, as you see the daffodils begin to pop up out of the ground, and the occasional crocus already in bloom, you tend to think that spring begins in March. In fact, it does, of course, around March 21.

But, no, March in DC is like April in Boston, more disappointing than hope filled. Today is the 9th of March. Looking at my phone, here are the high temperatures coming our way for the next ten days: 66, 70, 75, 59, 50, 66, 71, 50, 35, 37. So little consistency.

But, I guess it is much better than it has been the last several months, when DC had such a cold and snowy winter. As I got older, I learned that my tolerance of weather variations became much constricted. I decided that I was only happy with the weather if it was between 65 and 75; other than that, I was too cold or too warm. But yesterday, when it was about 73 and I stepped outside, I thought it was too hot.

This worried me, for obvious reasons. I think maybe the only temperature at which I am comfortable is the temperature I set on the thermostat indoors. That can’t be a good way to live………

In case you haven’t noticed, when I sat down at my computer this morning, I had no idea what to write in today’s blog post. I still don’t. Like the character we saw on stage yesterday who was waiting for Godot, I am sitting here waiting for the plumber. He is supposed to be here between 8 and 10, and it is now 9:07. I have had breakfast, gone through the print edition of the New York Times, and have been watching Morning Joe. I see that, nine minutes after opening, the DOW is already down almost 600 points, oil is over $100 per barrel, Tehran is today a very dangerous place to be if you have to breathe, the most dangerous urban area in the world is the southern part of Beirut (will there be a building left standing?), Mayor Mamdani was safer in Astoria than in Gracie Mansion (who was Gracie, anyway?), three synagogues in Toronto were shot at within a few hours, and Darryl Hannah is upset at the portrayal of a woman named Darryl Hannah in the new TV series about John F. Kennedy, Jr. (as she should be). It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that Darryl Hannah is already 65 (and her husband Neil Young 80), when, say, Bo Derek (whom you would assume would be 110 by now) is only 69. Wouldn’t you assume they were of very different generations, rather than both Boomers? I would. And, of course, Bo Derek’s husband, John, if alive, would be celebrating his 100th birthday this August. That would seem to mean that there was a 31 year age gap between male Derek and female Derek. That would also mean, if I had married someone with a similar age gap to me, and if I had married (as I did) when I was 34, I would have married a 3 year old.

Speaking of Bo Derek, as I was, you can picture her, right? Very attractive lady, who couldn’t really act? Guess how tall she is. If you would say, 5’9″, you would be wrong. She is only 5’3″. Hard to believe for me. Darryl Hannah, on the other hand, is 5’10”. Neil Young is 6′, so it’s all okay. John Derek? He was 6’1″, so he would have been okay with Darryl Hannah as well, except that she would be 35 years younger than he, and there are limits.

Speaking of height, as you know, Robert Reich is only 4’11”, but his wife is 5 inches taller. And Danny DeVito is only 5′ even, and Wikipedia says that his wife, Rhea Perlman is also 5″. I do find that hard to believe, because every photo of the two of them together shows Perlman to be several inches taller than her husband. Maybe you know why this is.

I want to end this with everybody knowing that I did see the Country Joe McDonald has passed away at 84. He was 84, but born the same year I was. Can you even imagine how that could be possible?

Now, I have one more thing to admit. I don’t think I knew Country Joe McDonald, although good friend and current house guest Simon Aronin can’t believe that.

So I will assume you knew him and his protest songs. I will leave you with one thought about him. Do you know his mother was Florence Plotnick, who was a Communist and Berkeley CA politician, who was arrested 24 times before she was 18?

I don’t know how tall she was.