Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; All the rest have thirty-one Except February alone, Which has twenty-eight 3 years in four, Till Leap Year gives it just one more. 

 

This week’s musings inspired by the weird and wonderful, wacky extra day in February. And by the way: How do you say February – with or without the “ru (w)” sound?

Image: Two excited kids playing leap frog.

What will you do with the extra precious 24 hours credited to your life account?

I’m talking about Feb. 29. A rare day that makes us wait four years. Four long years. But leap day’s arrival delights me, and I feel like dancing, dancing with abandon like when I tune in for Funky Fridays on my favorite Philly radio station WXPN. Their eclectic lineup spans decades of notable funk and soul from the ultimate James Brown to today’s rap and funk.

Cue the Pointer Sisters’ I’m so Excited. Because why not get excited about this weird and wonderful day?  Leap Day makes me giddy. It's the same feeling I get when:

ü  My hubby takes a mental health day and spends it with me.  

ü           A new crisp $20 bill appears in my coat pocket.

ü          An archaeological freezer dig unearths a homemade ice cream chocolate chip cookie sandwich hiding under the bag of frozen peas.

ü          My friend calls whom I haven’t talked to in months calls with Super news: She’s going to be a grandmother. Or another friend texts me with BIG news: Her son is getting married.

ü          A stranger offers me free orchestra tickets for Yo-Yo Ma before I reached the box office to buy the cheapest balcony seats. I will always remember this musical gift.    

ü          Mother Nature greets me with a double rainbow—a good luck omen for the day ahead.

ü          Our meteorologist is wrong: The rainy day is instead a sunny one, for which I forecast a bicycle ride. A ride with gentle sunshine and the thrill of coasting down an obstacle-free path. No walkers, runners or unfortunate deer causing me to brake or hold my breath.

ü          I meet Ms. Serendipity, who hands me a Dorothy L. Sayers mystery book in excellent condition. I open the title page and inhale the musty old smell and discover it’s autographed. The author’s signature, small and slanted, is perfectly legible. My heart flutters, my pulse races, and I’m in book lovers’ heaven.

Well, I admit, I made up this last example. But with Leap Day almost here, I am hoping that something magical will happen.   

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Musical notes: I’m binge listening to the music of country singer Toby Keith, 62, who died this week. And I’ve discovered the singer-songwriter Cat Power, also known as Charlyn Marie Marshall. I started with “Cat Power Sings Dylan.”