We're off tomorrow morning for a week at a cross-country ski resort. The temperature there has been hovering around 50 degrees which makes it much more comfortable for the rain they've been having. The resort's website has an announcement up saying they're open for hiking only.
Last year I finally accepted that, after years of off-and-on effort, I am never going to be a cross-country skier. But I did start getting into snowshoeing. I think that could be my sport. I can walk. Unfortunately, I, personally, think you need some significant snow in order to snowshoe. Otherwise, you feel like a fool.
I'm not just rambling here, folks. This all leads up to my telling you how long it will be before I post again. I don't know. The family member I'm traveling with usually can't stand being at this place for more than a few days when there's lots to do. Yet he has this fantasy about the sky opening up and depositing mass quantities of snow upon us on Wednesday so that we can frolic in it the end of the week.
He also started muttering about Montreal tonight. We'll be in northern Vermont, anyway, and perhaps he thinks we can find snow north of the border. Maybe the Canadians are hording it?
I guess this means I don't really know where I'm going or when I'll be back.
I am packing my book bag. It's going to be filled with those articles I made copies of back in December when I couldn't take time to read them, the magazines I also couldn't read then, as well as 4 or 5 books. If I don't find snow, I'll be all set.