Snowshoes optional?

Two weeks ago, while my mother was here from Newfoundland, we embarked on spring cleaning. The key word was meant to be 'Spring'. We carefully packed away all of the winter coats, boots and gloves. Then we stored them all away, in a tidy fashion, deep under the basement stairs. I broke out my sandals, looked shamefully at my white legs and put on Capri pants. Spring cleaning all done, I went to scope out fun wedding locations for some upcoming events and looked hopefully at a park in Leduc.

The week went along very well. Not only was I happy that I was sporting my pre-pregnancy pants, but I was pleased as punch at feeling the sun on my legs and face. Spring had sprung, summer was just around the corner and I nearly was motivated to clean out my car. Nearly. Instead I took Bridget to the park, where she napped just as peacefully in the warm sun as she would have in her bassinet at home, while I was doing laundry. But I digress...

Then yesterday arrived. What a shock to the system that was. I was forced to put away my pretty red nail polish by covering it with slippers. Bridget needed fleece sleepers. I turned the heat way up.

And then today arrived...

Embarking on a trip to Wal-mart today didn't work out. There was 4 inches of snow on the ground. Every car in Edmonton was on the road and driving as though we were faced with the worst blizzard conditions of the century. I gave up and convinced the family perhaps we had best just go to Superstore.

If you know me, you would know this. If you don't, I will tell you. I hate Superstore. I hate the crowd, the bagging of one's own groceries and the idea that I have to pay for bags. Now I am sure I vacuumed up more money than my bags cost me today, but it's the principal of the matter. So the very idea that I was willing to shop there is a strong testament to the fact that I didn't want to drive all the way to St. Albert to pick up milk and eggs.

Walking into the store, we passed by a stunning display of those ornamental trees that folks who garden would plant in their yards. Taller than me, and incredibly full, they were indeed impressive. I am sure I would have noticed them, all on my own. However, my attention was drawn to them as an elderly gentleman powered by on his scooter and commented...'Might as well be Christmas trees.' He was right. This was amusing. I smiled at the man and his witty comment. The more ironic part of this story is that fact that located directly adjacent to these 'Christmas trees' was a giant display of annual and perennials and a very large bin of pool toys!

As I look out my patio door and type this, I gaze longingly at my BBQ which looks like a mere blob of snow on long black legs. It seems unfair that my empty propane tank is not the key factor preventing me from a enjoying a scrumptious grilled steak. It is after all, the depth to which my parka and to tuque are stored in under the stairs.