When I was a little girl though, the sight of the snow made me want to get bundled up in my snowsuit, force my double socked feet into my boots and waddle outside. Of course I would be back inside five minutes later to go to the bathroom and have to peel it all off and then get suited up all over again. And forget it if I slipped outside and fell; I was there until some kindly soul helped me up (usually a brother). Then it was all about being outside! Winters in Montreal felt endless; the snow drifts were as high as the roof!
Now as an old lady, and living in B.C., I am quite happy to be just a witness to the wonderful whiteness outdoors. A slip on the ice years ago and the resulting fracture has made me leery of icy sidewalks and uncleared walkways; it’s safer indoors. And it’s infinitely, completely and utterly much more beautiful outside in the lovely, pure white snow. The shoveling can wait!
