Snowbird

I've got a new, rather risque winter coat. It only comes down to my thighs. Ooh la la. 

When we first arrived in Toronto in the late summer of 2010, I went into immediate high gear preparing for winter. In the dripping heat of September, I started panic-buying outerwear and underwear for the whole family, dragging them first to MEC, Canada's premier outdoor store, then, shocked at the prices, to the discount mall down the road. I felt particularly anxious about snow boots. I bought and returned half-a-dozen pairs before finally settling. The kids began to hide from me. "Please try them on just once more," I begged. I outfitted them in sets of matching coats and snowpants, which latter the elder ones wore once and then disdained. Husband cavalierly selected an inexpensive puffy jacket and said, "It'll be fine." (It wasn't.) For myself I assiduously researched and chose the warmest coat I could find, ankle-length, with a faux-fur-rimmed hood, dull white in colour, utterly fashion-free. It resembled a sleeping bag and wearing it, I could be mistaken for the abominable snowman. People did a double-take when they saw me. "My," they stuttered. "Don't you look...comfortable." I didn't care. I lumbered along, armored against Canada.

Five winters later, I'm still fond of that shapeless duvet of a coat, but more as a security token than something I wish to don daily December to March. I've adjusted to Toronto temperatures. A couple of degrees above or below zero, which back in England counted as flipping freezing, is tolerably warm. If the roads are clear of ice, I'll even cycle to work (wearing my Norwegian neck-warmer). It requires a minus sign and double digits appearing on my weather app to scare me these days. Hence the new coat. It can lay no claim to haute couture, but in it I am at least recognizable as a human female. It is short, it allows free movement, it's kind of cute, and it's Danish. I've shed my armor.

The timing feels right. I'm acutely aware these days that no one ever knows what lies around the corner, but with our eldest set to finish high school in June, and the youngest becoming a teenager this weekend, I feel we could be at a half-way mark in our lives here. Another five winters, and chances are that husband and I won't be in thrall to the children's school schedule. Ignoring the nugatory demands of our own employment, we would then be able to contemplate abandoning Toronto during its coldest months. We might become snowbirds, a human sub-species rampant in Canada that migrates south in the winter, like the famed geese. I'm starting to eye up Winnebagos, though I don't tell my husband.

Our street with snow! Just like last year! And the year before!

The Californian in me still gets excited by the first snowfall, however. Last week I ran out to greet this one wearing my new half-way coat. I was fine.