Everyone is complaining about the winter and how cold it is. I don't find it that bad. Even though I am outside walking around a lot.
On Morton Road, the bed used to be under a drafty, single-paned picture window. The floor also seemed to have no insulation. It was cold in that room. Very cold. My theory is that sleeping in this room for two years lowered my core temperature to such a degree that I am now perfectly acclimatized to Canadian living. They could make a vaccine for surviving the Canadian winter from my genes and offer it up like the flu shots every year. For real, I bet I could live in the Arctic.
Maybe I just like winter. Or, there's also this: It's Canada. It's cold. We choose to live here. Let's move on. Being grumpy about it doesn't make spring come any faster, it only makes you more grumpy. Try it. These people who are into winter sports are onto something.
But then I was looking through the archives of a blog I hadn't read in a long time and came on some pictures of the author, her husband and corgi. It was last summertime and they had a pretty quilt spread on the ground. She had some fluffy crap to read and he was laying on his side, a newspaper spread out in front of him. And they had cupcakes frosted with pink icing.
I started thinking I could really go for that scene right about now.
Just switch out that book and add a hula hoop. Oh yeah.