The Boss’s first words when he phoned this morning were, “Presidents’ Day.” So right off I knew that he knew that it was a holiday. The next thing out of his mouth was a question about an invoice, followed by an instruction to pay it today. So I knew that he didn’t consider P-Day a real holiday. It’s sort of like the county dump, which is only closed four days a year. They go by the same calendar that the Boss has inside his head.

As you know, I’m a stickler for punctuation, and I get all skeevy when an apostrophe is in the wrong place. I haven’t actually looked up where the apostrophe in “Presidents’ Day” is supposed to go, but I’ve made the editorial decision that for my own purposes it must go after the s and not before. That way the current president can’t think that it’s his day and his alone. After the s means it’s the day of all the presidents, or at least more than one. I’m pretty adamant about that.

It’s been about three weeks since the last rain, and the puddles in the driveway have finally dried up. There’s still an essence of muddiness when I walk out to the garage, or up the way to get the mail (which I didn’t have to do today, because, you know, it’s P-Day), but at least I can get from here to there without sinking up to my ankles. It’s just a shame that the weather has been so cold and gray these last few days, so I wouldn’t have anything to complain about. Weather-wise, that is.