Raising Jordans

Everyone:  “You’re from Caaaanada, you must be so used to the snow”

Me: “West coast Canada, as in I can count how many white Christmases I have had on half a hand”

Sadly, I do not live in an igloo nor do I inhabit a ice covered tundra.  I am from a mild, verdant island off the west coast of Canada, where our temperate climate saves us from extreme heat and extreme cold.  In essence it is perfect.  So with that in mind this happens to be my first true winter.  Previously, my skin had never felt well below freezing and I have never had need for Sorrel Boots and parkas.  Where I hail from a light fall coat and toms constitute winter wear.  Again I reiterate it was perfect.

Now I have experienced winter and I will give it that is is whimsically pretty and the soft snow falling over the city streets is as serene as it is cinematically perfect.  However, the practical side of skin nipping cold air, pragmatic (not cute) winter attire and trekking through snow drifts to the subway is less than glamourous.  For example, there was one afternoon during the polar vortex that Jay and I tried to set out for an adventure and made it around the block before trudging back to the sanctity of our heated apartment.  The air burned our lungs and the frigid  temperatures soaked in so deep that Jay’s hips throbbed.  However, that being said if you asked Jay about winter in the city you would get a much rosier response than I am detailing. So I guess like beauty, tolerance is also in the eye of the beholder.

All gripping aside thankfully winter isn’t actually as terrible as I had imagined it to be and at the very least I have now earned my winter badge of honour.  Now perhaps I can consider myself a true Canadian.  However I haven’t done it alone.  I owe my survival  thus far to my step dad (an Ontario native) who sprung to buy me hearty winter boots to keep my toes warm and the Michaels Kors down jacket I nabbed on a ridiculously great sale that keeps the rest of me cozy.