Yep!

Snow happens. And I guess I was right about thinking that change was about to happen.

This eerily blue image is how the world looked from the front door just after 8 this morning -- in other words, only a few minutes after sunrise, which just keeps getting later and later. 

This is the time of year that makes me wonder whether the people who seem to want Daylight Saving Time to be in effect forever whether they've thought about what mornings will be like. Dark. The sun won't come up until 9. Ugh. Hibernation well become the next new norm. 

This also happens to be the day when many observe the Feast of St Nicholas. When I was a kid, and even brattier than I am now, I convinced our mother that we deserved candies and other small stocking-type treats on this date. I suspect the reason she relented was solely because the day was named after a saint. Those kinds of arguments worked more than once on my behalf. Yep. Bratty could have been my middle name. 

As for this morning's snow, it was very wet and heavy and dragged down part of the bamboo 'trees' that provide such nice privacy from our neighbour. Here's hoping that a 'splint' job will help it to stand tall again. 

The big shift

I'm in the habit of having a couple of fresh flowers on the ledge above the kitchen sink. Lately, this little wish of mine has become a little harder to fulfill, as nearly all of the flowers in the garden have come and been. About the only reliable blooms that remain are the little white four-stars (my name for them) that cling to the leggy ends of the arugula -- a hardy plant that's still making contributions to our salads. 

But yes, this morning there was one bedraggled nasturtium in the pot out front -- and where the temps are finally getting frosty, I figured I'd better snip it and enjoy it for the bright spot of colour it provides. 

The weather predictions include the possibility of some snow, which is likely better news for many than the streams of heavy rains we've been experiencing here in BC. Although I'm never thrilled to have a big dump of the white stuff, even someone as grumpy as I can be admits that the first bits of it can be awfully pretty. 

Whatever the next while may bring, it's clear that the big shift into winter is upon us. 

Goin' nowhere

Those of us who live in BC's Lower Mainland are generally blessed with not having to shovel ourselves out during the winter. Many express pity on us, as most of our precipitation falls in the form of rain, which yes, means skies that are often grey.

While today's skies aren't blue -- or even grey for that matter -- more whitish than anything, what's on the ground is definitely white.

So, what am I doing? Staying inside as much as I can (though yes, I bundled up and shoveled the walk on the odd chance the letter carrier comes through ("...neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night...??") with something for the mailbox. The radio is full of warnings, saying that roads are icy (even transit is having big problems), and cautioning everyone to stay home if we can.

It feels like a day for carbs, so pasta it shall likely be, especially if I can come up with a recipe that will want some time in the oven. And of course, a few more chapters in the novel I'm currently reading. Who knows, maybe even curling up under the covers and taking a hibernatory nap.

Shoulda known better...

This photo of snowdrops in a planter box is one I took just over a week ago, on Saturday, Groundhog Day. Because I couldn't see my shadow cast across the blooms, I fell prey to believing that not seeing it meant that winter was just about over -- that we wouldn't have to wait another six weeks for spring breezes to be upon us.

But oh, silly me, look at what today looks like for those same snowy snow drops in the planter. The poor things are buried past their necks. Even the straggly geranium appears to have given up.

Yesterday we celebrated a dear friend's birthday -- with a nice supper and even a homemade cheesecake. Looking outside this morning, it looked like a yard full of birthday cakes, and all of them risen higher than yesterday's celebratory dessert.

I guess this must be what I get for trying to think like a groundhog.

Icing on the cake?

Last night, past midnight but well before dawn, light crept into the bedroom, waking me. Outside I discovered the reason. No flash on the camera, just reflected light from the glow of the unexpected white stuff, thus the spooky glow.

I admit to not being a big fan of snow (okay, it can look pretty for a few minutes, especially if it's Christmastime). And even though today is a friend's birthday, the icing on the cake I'm talking about isn't exactly the bonus kind.

Last week broke temp records here.

On Tuesday I was still wearing sandals.

This morning I need to find the shovel and figure out something saucey for those little yellow dots still there shivering on the vine.

Or, I suppose I should just think of all this as icing on the tomatoes.

Brrrr...

Freezing. The temperature on our little weather station is one that we don't see very often, especially not exactly zero-point-zero.

Only now it's even colder than it was. No one can pretend it isn't winter around here. It's been cold for about a week now, colder than I remember it being. Mind you, that may not mean anything, as I'm pretty good at blocking bad memories, cold being one of those conditions I like to avoid (and thus, forget).

When I put gas in my car the other day, I thought it might be a good idea to wash my windscreen. Only thing is, the squeegee wouldn't come out of the bucket where it's kept. The water had frozen around it, making a

veritable Popsicle of it.

Since then, the temp dropped further over the weekend, but has 'warmed up' today to a whopping -2 C (29 F). In fact, it's warmed sufficiently that we're getting a little bit of snow.

Pretty though that may be, I am hoping it doesn't decide to accumulate.

Looking to some facts from The Canadian Weather Trivia Calendar, I find that things certainly aren't as cold as they might be -- that on this day in 1906, it was so cold in Lethbridge, Alberta that the sheep "started eating the wool off each other's backs" and that the situation became so bad that ranchers had to make "them coats from sacks to help them survive." And yet, despite this, "About 25 sheep died a day." Temp that day was recorded as -32.2 C. According to my trusty conversion website, that's -32.96 in Fahrenheit. Yikes.

So yes, I will stay inside today, not too far from the cozy fire and write some more of those Christmas cards to friends around the world -- in places both colder and warmer than my thermometer tells me it is here.

Grace found in a kitchen garden

I never understand how February can feel so long, and yet how it can slip away so quickly. Here it’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve even posted anything. But that doesn’t mean that nothing’s happened. In fact, it’s more like the opposite: too much has happened, my world’s been all a-whirl.

Even a sixth blogiversary came and went (February 16th) without so much as a candle on a virtual cake.

I can’t help but think this lunar year’s water dragon may have something to do with it. The dragon’s arrival and this swirl of activity seem to have coincided.

Despite the fact that I am not a fan of white stuff that falls from the sky (or, for that matter, most things referred to as ‘white stuff’ whether dust that grows under the bed or cocaine), yesterday’s brief snowfall seemed like a message to slow down.

One of the first harbingers of spring, the snowdrop bends to whatever weathers may befall it. Its grace inspires tolerance, acceptance and calm.

The snowdrop blooming in the snow-dusted garden will be the symbol that carries me through the rest of this hurried month. Even with February’s extra day this year, March feels awfully darn close. And who knows, maybe I can carry the message of the snowdrop even longer.

Styrosnow?

We've had some more snow, only this time it looks less like snow than some sort of packing material.

Not hard like hail (though that's what it looks like), just perfectly round 'flakes' (er, pellets?) that look like snowballs so G.I. Joe and Barbie could have themselves a party.

And no, Virginia, there's no such thing as climate change.

First snow

...of the year, first snow of the season.

After a successful evening in Vancouver, as part of SFU's TWS series, when I got off the bus at our local park 'n ride, a few flakes were just starting to fall.

By the time I drove home, it was really starting to fall, and I just had to walk outside and look around. The photo is a picture of our street. No tracks in the road yet, all fresh and white and new.

And no flash, just my trusty little Nikon Coolpix set on auto 'scene' and me holding my breath for the duration of the exposure. There aren't any streetlights on our road, only a few porch lights burning -- I guess for just such an occasion as this.

Chasing the snow away

Transit is usually my mode for getting to Vancouver. Only, sometimes it just doesn’t work -- the bus or train doesn’t go where I need it to go, or the timing means the car’s the only way.

Last night was one of those times – only wouldn’t ya know, it turned out to be the day for Vancouver’s first dusting of snow.

It’s always a treat when that first icing of white decides to decorate the North Shore mountains or Mt Baker. But when it comes down onto the plain that is the city and environs, the thrill quickly fades.

The day's trip was for a cause – a downright writerly one. An afternoon meeting with my ever-helpful writers’ group, supper together, then a dash across town to the delightful Prophouse Café for an event in the Twisted Poets Series.

It felt like a heck of an honour to be reading with Michael Turner who is, after all, the only writer I can think of who’s had a book of poems made into a feature film. And of course, he didn’t bite. In fact, he bought me a drink. He was a perfect gentleman and read from a range of work that encompassed the whole of the city and then some.

The poets who read at the open mic were amazing as well. From Dennis Bolen’s explosive work to the night’s closing reader, Miguel Burr (a finalist in the 3-Day Novel Contest, a poet who even provided back-up tunes), it was not your average open mic event. Many were very skilled poets, poets I know we’ll be hearing more from – Eva Waldauf, Shannon Rayne, Timothy Shay and of course, the evening’s organizer, Bonnie Nish.

I’m grateful for venues like the Prophouse and White Rock’s Pelican Rouge. Especially in these arts-endangered times, they provide a lot more than coffee. Food for the mind, food for warming the soul. Warm enough that when I came outside to leave, although there was a dusting of the white stuff on my car, the roads were clear and fine.