It’s only cold until the rain starts, then it’s cold and wet.

As much as I try to blend in with the locals when we’re here in Canada, I never seem to fool anyone.  No matter how I try, I always slip up in matters meteorological.

Take last Monday for example.  I complain to Kirsty that the house seems ‘a bit chilly’.  She makes a face and comments that the heating is set several degrees higher than normal, in recognition of the ‘soft’ Aussies camping in the downstairs room.  I’m not convinced, and after a bit of sleuthing, find that the heated air ain’t flowing so good because the main filter is – well – a bit blocked.  After a short debate about it being my job to replace said filter, and minor issues like pandemic border closures not being considered a valid excuse, I offer to walk to the nearby hardware store forthwith and secure a replacement.

I rug up in multiple layers, including my trusty tuque (beanie for the Aussies), and head out into the crisp morning air.  “Cold Eh?”  Ah, it’s one of the friendly neighbours.  I roll out the expected response. “Yup.  Supposed to be Spring Break, eh?”  Oops, I forgot the capital E in the Eh.  Fortunately, the neighbour doesn’t seem to notice.  “Goowin for a walk Eh?”  I explain my mission and ignore the neighbour’s enquiring look as I head on my way.

Twenty-seven minutes later, I exit the hardware store with what I hope is the correct 16x25x1 filter (inches are so hard to understand after all these years).  I’m about quarter of the way home when a slight drizzle of rain joins the icy wind.  The drizzle inevitably turns to ‘real’ rain, so I scan each passing car, as I’m sure my loving family must be racing to my rescue.  Alas, no rescue.  

When I finally reach the sanctuary of the house, replace the filter, then haul my bedraggled frame upstairs to the living room, two pairs of eyes look up from an array of screens.  “Oh, you’re back.”  I subtly point out the rain, which has mischievously subsided to a drizzle again. “Hmm.  Well, grab yourself a quick coffee.  We’re heading out to Crazy Bins in ten minutes.”

I’ll digress here for a minute.  Crazy Bins is, as the name suggests, a place where a bunch of people crowd into a relatively small space to fight over random ‘items’ strewn across open tables (which are, for some reason, called bins).  The items are reputed to be surplus goods and returns from the big delivery chains, and may range from high end electrical goods to incomplete sets of snow boots for dogs.  The attraction is that every item costs the same amount, and the fixed ‘all items’ price is lowered each day.  Today is $3 day, so it’s worth braving the cold on the off chance of snagging a bargain.

Anyways, to wrap up that little detour, we survive Crazy Bins without contracting any communicable diseases (that we know of), and manage to score – a microphone that I’m fairly sure will work, some socks that don’t fit, a set of beach towels Nanette swears are ‘just like those really expensive ones’, and a cup emblazoned with ‘the World’s Okayest Guitar Player’.  Definitely worth the three-block walk in the rain from the nearest available parking spot.

Well, that was last week.  This week, Kirsty assures me that the prediction is for three days of partial sunshine, with maximums as high as 16C (61F).  “Let’s take a trip to Osoyoos”, says she.  “It’s only four hours away and we can swim at the lake while the weather’s warm.”  “Sure,” says I.  “We can use those new beach towels.”