The Village Green

This is the p-man. Still can't figure out the me-blog component of the mothership.

It snowed recently here in the Pacific Southwest, er, Vancouver. The city was nearly paralyzed by the oh, 1.5 centimetres of cold yicky snow. Camaros litter the ditches, the strains of Dokken and fokken Pioneer stereos fading, as the Motomaster batteries crank their last.

But enough of me and my involuntary forays into public transit. This is about the kid! At least nominally.

It's already obvious where we're going here which is to the park, to where the snow is, to go and look at and sit in and touch and occasionally nibble at the snow. Watch out where those huskies go, baby E. So there we are, in the snow, baby layered up like a cross between heyday Cyndi Lauper (?) and that art nun from tv, me in tennis shoes and my Isaac Hayes caftan (TM) trying to scrape up enough snow to make a snowball (the skiff of snow being insufficient to manufacture of a snow dwarf, or snow fetus) but we persevered, we did, getting white and then wet. Baby's first snow. I imagine her asking: why am wearing all this to sit on the grass?

Good times.