All of my neighbors are mowing their lawns.

You don't know how great this is. After a week of rain, high winds, and the looming threat of snow, it's balmy, sunny, and the air is filled with the scent of cut grass. That's one of the greatest smells of summer, along with beach air, gasoline, white pines, and charcoal.

So I'm sitting on the front porch drinking coffee, and noticing how the buds have turned to leaves. It's beautiful, but it's a love/hate kind of thing. Soon I'll go to work, and then while the rest of the world floats in summertime bliss, I'll be drudging away under fluorescent lights in a cloud of envelopes, paper dust, and anthrax.

Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but cut me some slack here.

See, last night was a rare night in that I actually punched out at my scheduled end time -- 5am. This, I am told, almost never happens. Typically, it's overtime for me, which means driving home well after dawn, dodging you people as you race off to do whatever it is you diurnal people do in the godawful morning.

I was saying, though, last night was different. I got home while it was still relatively dark, actually felt tired, and actually went to bed right away. Zonk. I fell asleep and woke up 11 hours later to find that summer had arrived.

Ho hum. I missed the one nice day of the year. Of my life, actually. It'll never be nice outside again.