In Canada, being snowed in is a choice. Most of the time.
We’re used to cold and snow. Where I live, we have it just about 8 months of the year, so the city is well prepared for snow. We’ve got plows that stand ready, and piles of snow that grow and grow and don’t fully melt until the end of August, and a general hearty spirit.
Canadians in our neck of the woods like to hang out in -25C ( -13F) in nothing more than a hoodie. When Spring springs, teenagers will put on shorts when it hovers around 5C (41F), and I have to admit that after a good deep freeze, anything above freezing feels absolutely balmy. But it’s part of living in cold climate. People take a bizarre (and entirely illogical) pride in ruggedly enduring the elements.
So when I tell you that we’ve been “snowed in” the last couple of days, you should take that with a grain of salt. We got a nice dump of snow. We’d already gotten a fresh load of groceries. My husband doesn’t have to work, and today is Sunday, so we don’t even have to take our son to school. We looked out the window and cheerfully declared, “Snowed in.”
I’m propped up in bed next to my hubby. Hot mint tea is in the tea pot, and I’m bubbling over with story ideas for new romance novels. I’m going to make a big pot of spicy chili later on today, too.
By the time this posts on Monday, we’ll be back to functioning normally, but today will be blissfully quiet. Good things happen on snow days.