It’s going to snow in about 24 hours.
I don’t mind snow.
I love how snow looks. I love what people make with snow. That dogs adore snow. I love posted pics of snow, and how snow mutes the sounds of the World.
No, snow and me … we be mates …
What I do mind is the acrimonious relationship snow has with what I lovingly refer to as my poor wee cottage, and how that passive aggressive relationship adversely affects only me.
See, depending upon the severity of frozen precipitation, being holed up in these four walls by snow makes me feel as if I were some loner living up in the mountains of Montana.
Except, I’m not one of those uber sexy loners with cool footwear:
No, I’m more like one of these precious neighbourhood morons:
But only when it snows.
And only when I’m here.
In Summer, Spring and Autumn – my poor wee cottage and I are FAB.
Even enviable, if I may be so bold as to suggest.
Front and back doors are open and inviting. Beautiful natural light surrounds every one and every thing. Comfortable breezes flow through the windows bringing lovely outside earthy aromas.
I plant colourful flowers in pretty porch boxes … I mean, we’re talking off-season Hallmark movies here.
But in Winter? Yeah, in Winter this place is not so charming, and I’m a bit like an abandoned domesticated bunny rabbit.
The house never warms enough to be truly at ease, and it can require donning additional layers of clothing when the sun sets, and sometimes those layers make it into bed.
The pipes threaten to freeze every time it drops below 0 Canadian (that’s 32 for you Fahrenheit fans) as the 1940’s gutters collect icicles so large that I wonder if the walls are going to withstand the weight.
Oh, and the sidewalks are my problem to clear from any hazards brought on by Jack Frost. And it never seems to clear quick enough by itself to avoid a possible city fine.
What’s more? Bad weather here can make me long for my old luxury high rise flat high above Washington D.C.
How’s that for brain freeze?
When temps dip, I’ve been known to actually wax poetic about living on top of 800 other people in a space the size of a shoe box.
What can you do? Taxes, death and weather.
The 3 things we cannot control.
So, I’m going to go with the flow. You know, in that “if you can’t beat ’em” fashion.
First, I will make a wine store run to stock up on a few extra bottles of Chablis.
Then I’ll stop off at the market and see if there are any radishes, olives, bacon and cheeses left to share. I’m not storing up for the next 3 months, so a bit of gourmet stock piling will serve the mood wonderfully.
Then I’m going to come back here. Turn on my faux fireplace heater. Open up one of those recently purchased bottles of wine. And ring my friend in Cardiff, so we can chat the rest of the evening away discussing movies, pandemics, travel … and, of course, snow.
Check. Check. Check. And Check.
I don’t want to brag, but doesn’t this plan have a pair of fabulous legs?
So, to my soon-to-arrive snow flake visitor, I proudly extend my finest UGG foot and greet merrily unto thee: Welcome! We’ve been expecting you!
Whilst also adding: But just until Tuesday, okay?