Snow and Fire

The last winter I spent in Victoria, it snowed once. Once. It lasted less than twenty-four hours. Vancouver, where I've lived for the last six years, gets more snow than Victoria, but not that much more. Snow is still on occasion, here. Mostly, as an adult, a horrible occasion because of the nastiness of the conditions that provide snow here -- wet, heavy snow that is delivered close to freezing temperatures, resulting in thick, heavy slush which quickly sets into thick, treacherous ice. That combined with a population of people who have no idea how to drive in anything worse than rain provides snow chaos. So I'm not a big fan of the white stuff, nor the cold that comes with it. Somehow I think I cannot be a real Canadian. 

This morning, however, was Sunday, and we had no place to go and no reason to remove the car from the garage. We woke up to five inches of snow and a week that promises freezing temperatures and much more of the same. I am dreading the commute tomorrow, but for tonight I sit in a cozy home, looking out at the snow from a place by a roaring wood fire. We spent the day playing outside in the snow, eating nice food, and watching Christmas specials. My son is in the bath, starry-eyed from the rare snow and the show with Santa Claus. Today, snow wasn't really so bad.