The Three Little Bears

Before we moved here Rob would tell me, in Cape Breton it always snows on my birthday. His birthday is in the middle of October. I've been here for three years now and we haven't yet had snow (real snow - the this it it, everything is white until March, snow) at Christmas. I never used to be a winter person. I'm not really one now either but those first few snowfalls ... oh. Watching snowflakes fall at night, watching them whirl thick like lace in front of the hazy street lamp, it's as if the world grows quieter and just. slows. down. 

While I wait and hope for a fluffy white Christmas, I'm really enjoying being able to run outside in December. Especially when Christmas cookie recipes make batches of sixty. This morning it was a little before eight, a little below zero and there was frost and sunshine on everything.

I dread having to go to the gym. Having to pack up myself, get in the car, sign in, change my shoes, sign-up, wait my turn, wipe down the treadmill, move to the next machine (twenty minute limit you know) and then do most of it over again on the way home. I like putting on my shoes and walking out the door and then there I am, ready to run.

Last week on the radio they were talking to a lovely-crazy bunch of folks planning to run a half marathon here (HERE) in February. I'm not going to join them but I am going to borrow some of their determined northern spirit to delay my ymca membership for as long as possible. 

These wintery morning runs mean a light at the end of a busy October-November tunnel. A week-ish late I know. I've spent almost every second of free time, when the bumble is sleeping and my other work is done, editing a book about education in Nigeria. I like doing this editing - it's flexible and I learn a lot about things that I'd otherwise have never come across - but man it makes for some long days. I've got just one of thirteen chapters left and so have been taking a bit of time to catch up on other ridiculously overdue things. Like taking photos for Christmas cards (hoping that they arrive here in time for Christmas) and mailing birthday presents (knowing that they probably won't arrive on time for birthdays - sorry uncle josher).

A few of the outtakes from our first time using a self-timer:

Too wiggly.

Too funny.

Too slow.

Just right.