November 28, 2006
Ah, the west coast. Paradise of rain and year-round golf. Snow is allowed but only in Whistler - you get the privilege of paying to see it. A number of years ago while living in Kitchener Ont. there was a huge snowstorm in Vancouver. The city was shut down for days. Oh how I laughed.
"Unprepared suckers!" we quipped.
This is my eighth winter living in Vancouver, the snowshoe is on the other foot. I am lucky, I don't drive here and I have grown up in "the rest of Canada" that does experience a normal winter. So I get amused with the people bundled up in layers of coats and boosts, looking at each other with wide eyes and asking what the "-" means on the thermometer. I walk around confidently in my vest, pretending that I am still acclimated to Winter, and that my ears are not cold.
"I am not a Vancouverite, I just live here."
I am smug in my knowledge that kitty litter has more uses than making feline excrement ten-times its natural bulk. I know that some people have to plug in their cars. I know what an "ice scrapper" is.
To give you an idea: I work on a hill. It is actually called a mountain, but the term is relative when you have the coastal mountains for comparison. If the hill was in flat parts of Europe it would have been worshipped by pagan religions. It has its own micro climate and people have a bad habit of pretending to be Scottish. Must be the fog. The hill owns its own snowplow, thus winter is not a big deal BUT, when that affliction should hit the rest of the city panic brews. The hill shuts down, and I get to stay at home. Hooray! - happens about once a year.
Closing things for snow is not unheard of, but these are minute quantities compared to other areas. Nevertheless, there is still a sprinkling of ditch bound vehicles littering the sides of the road while the bus spins its tires on the way up. It is beautifull though, and I forgot how fresh it smells. Maybe Calgary wouldn't be so bad after all...
November 27, 2006
Ok, I am breaking the "blog cherry". After years of ranting about how silly blogs are, and making "who wants to read about someone else's boring life"-style commentaries, I have decided that I am witty enough to maintain a small but loyal audience. Probably consisting of about five people. Besides my brother has one too and sibling rivalry is a strong motivator. (Picture brother in panic, "what rivalry?, Aw Crap!"). I digress.
The title is only a sideways tribute to numerous rodents that I have met (please don't ask). Broken mice is the poker name that my 8 year old son coined for pocket tens. Not a great hand, but adequate if you feel like gamboling. All in...