The fresh smell of springtime fills the bedroom and even here, in the congested northern suburbs just across the river from New York, it brings to mind memories of Little Silver childhood. The soft New Jersey night permeates my senses, and I'm amazed, really, that here can smell so much like there. It's the smell of cleanliness, of snowmelt and budding backyards.

As if marked on the calendar, right next to where Jess put "Dad's Birthday" for this date on our Christmas presents, today was the true first day of spring, a day set aside on a weekend day on purpose, a day when the weather hit the upper 60s and everyone in the neighborhood emerged from their winter slumbers to wash the car, to walk the dogs for fun rather than necessity, to clean house. And that's just what we did: opened the windows, shook out the rugs, dusted everything, Swiffered all the floors, and discarded bags and bags of trash. Our reward was an expedition to find a nearby Dairy Queen (not a blind quest, mind you, but an escapade embarked upon after the consultation of DairyQueen.com) and a Mr. Misty Float for each of us (cherry for me and lemon-lime for the lady). Not checking further to see that the first one we chose, in Teaneck, was a year-round shop or a seasonal one, we passed the stand-alone store to see the "Closed For The Season" signs in the windows. Plan B was on the way home and turned out to be closer to home than we realized, but either one will be a pleasant drive come summertime. Teaneck, and the roads to it, is more small town and welcoming than Ridgefield and the DQ on U.S. 1&9.

Returning home around 4, we tidied up just a little more before settling in for a lazy journey into evening. Casey took the couch in the living room while I stretched out on the bed, college basketball on in the background and a couple of magazines by my side to read when the action got tedious. With the breezes and the smell of clean coming in through the windows, I truly felt at home and could've easily and enjoyably dozed off to awake in darkness, the sounds and the scents still making their way through the blinds covering the open windows. It was a pleasant change this afternoon to hear the voices of neighbors -- both familiar and not -- coming in from the outside, through screens, rather than through the floor or ceiling.

It would've been a fine weekend to go to Boston for today's St. Patrick's Day parade through Southie, particularly with it being Dad's birthday and he and Mom going up to visit Jess and Bryan and his parents. But it just wasn't a good weekend, not with last weekend's trip to D.C., with Casey away next weekend and my plans to spend it in Little Silver. We needed a weekend together, at home, to relax and organize. But Mom did call, first leaving a message this afternoon: "Hey! It's your Ma! I'm in South Boston! It's pretty wild! Well, call us later if you want." So I did and got their voicemail, but later, as we were driving to DQ, Dad called and I heard as much of myself through the echo in my phone because of where we were as I did of his shouts from the streets of Southie, so I told him I'd call later. I did, after Jess and Bryan had called first during The Simpsons, then again afterwards after I'd pointed out that it was on and Kathy (in from Chicago and with shamrocks on her nipples, it was explained to me, but I didn't get the details) said, "Oh yeah! We'll call you after it's over!" And they did, and Bryan marveled at how St. Patrick's Day in South Boston with the weather in the 60s becomes Mardi Gras in New Orleans. "I saw a lot of boobs today, but it was all lost on me. But because of my situation, I get to touch!" Maybe he wasn't marveling but trying to intice me to come up next year, though I don't see how that would be a bargaining chip -- both with him being gay and me being with Casey. I did see a lot of boobs myself the last two weekends, but they were sometimes more than 100 years old and in Today was a day damn near perfect, and not for any particular reason. Simply because it was a day, and it was enjoyable.

Sometimes the best days are notable just for being routine.