Apparently, my delightful province has decided to send us off in a style befitting the abominable snowman. We’re getting a spring blizzard, and the irony isn’t lost on me as I pack to visit the desert. I’d snap a photo to share the carnage, were it not for the facts that: 1. my camera battery is on the charger in preparation for tomorrow, and 2. there are some things that are just too obscene, even for the internet.

I needed to pop out to Leduc, a nearby little city about a half hour trip from the dollhouse, to drop Sherman off for his sleep-away camp experience. We love our kennel, so I didn’t feel too bad about leaving him with Lorna and her family, but the trip itself was pretty dicey. If you’re lucky enough to have no idea what a spring storm on the prairies is like, I’ll try to explain it as best I can.

You know those instant mashed potato flakes that expand and get all goopy? Imagine driving on the highway as chunks of that crap the size of lima beans pelt down from the heavens. Because the temperatures are only a smidgen above zero, the snow turns to slush on the roads but freezes in certain places undetected by drivers until their tires pass immediately over the treacherous areas. Now envision a trip on a major highway in that kind of weather, being passed by logging and tank trucks, cut off by idiots in jacked up pickups, and narrowly missing every fool in a beat-up Honda who doesn’t understand that driving with her lights on might mean the other cars could have a chance of spotting her in the white-out. It’s a stressful scenario.

I sang Garth Brooks songs along to my iPod and thought about the sunny skies and sweaty temperatures awaiting me. Country music is good for tense drives. As much as the weather sucks and I fear for my life every time a vehicle darts in front of me and slams mud and slush against my windshield with the sharp volume of a gun shot, singing along with some broken-hearted person reminds me it could be so much worse. My heart is in great shape, even if the highways are brutal.

Here I am, typing away shortly before eleven p.m. and hoping I can get everything packed up and steal a few hours’ sleep before getting up for the last day of work tomorrow, which will be my last day in snow boots for quite some time.

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