Like clockwork, every Sunday seems to go like this: It's one in the morning and wake-up time is six. I've been working all afternoon and evening on things. Just now I finished something due for work. Just not enough time for both rest and getting all the things done that need to be done.

Good news is, the house is cleaned again. All six of the steps it takes to clean the whole house I completed today in a breve macchiato–fueled speed-cleaning.

We walked out for breakfast in the summerlike day, in short sleeves. I wore sandals, too. Four days ago, I woke up to snow and I wore my long-sleeved wool shirt, coat, scarf, and gloves on the walk to work. I hardly knew what to do without all that extra gear today. Tomorrow: warmer.

At 9:00 P.M. tonight the line at Molly Moon's curved out the door and along the sidewalk. We waited like everyone else but avoided the waffle cones, the short supply of which is clearly the source of the bottleneck. As the pony-tailed guy wielding the scooper said, "They're good, but not good enough to wait 10 minutes for. I mean, once you're here"—sweeping his arms along the top of the freezer—"this is what you came for."