Here Already?
Of the 23 Victoria Day weekends I’ve experienced since I came to Canada, this was only the third where it didn’t pour buckets all three days. This year, it actually seemed like the first long weekend of the summer (I’m ignoring the rain promised for this afternoon). I spent it doing nothing with great abandon and meandering around the neighbourhood, connecting with other people again after a long hibernation.
It was a pretty good weekend for the memory banks. There was the Chow Chow with a spring haircut that made it look like a lion. I watched six couples doing the tango in the sunshine by a fountain and refuse to speculate why – it’d ruin the moment. And I read Hypocrite in a Poufy White Dress in the park, surrounded by the smell of green things.
Most importantly, I haven’t worn socks since Thursday.
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Hope your weather held. This evening we are not only wearing socks, but wool ones, and knitting more. On the one hand we’re growing sturdy, lush plants (the tulips look like lasting to Memorial Day — ask Stephanie about her fury that they were digging perfect ones out of the part two weeks ago to get the annuals planted.) On the other hand we have to make excusions outside to smell the lilacs and now the mock orange — open windows are not a choice. Good sleeping weather, we tell ourselves. (rams)
Yesterday was the first official Birkenstock day.My joy knows no bounds.(Except for how cold my feet were by night-time, but we’re not speaking of that.)
Very difficult to bound in Birkies.
Thanks for sending the cold our way, rams. Today, I’m freezing my arse off. But still no socks. I refuse the socks.