Okay, I admit that I am no longer a stoic prairie girl and have become a true west-coaster. What that means is that I whine when the temperature goes below -2 Celsius, and my brain attempts to shift into panic mode when three or more snowflakes stick to the ground. I never thought it would happen. I realize that I’ve been slowly sucked in over the past 11 years and I’m now to the point where the thought of spending a frigid winter in Saskatchewan sends shudders down my spine.
Having said all of the above, I am looking outside at our latest dump of snow. It’s still dark, but I can see a white hill in the driveway that I can only assume is my car. Wayne has gone with a shovel to find out.
And the white stuff continues to fall.
Inside the Writer 