Ottawa Winter

There is persuasive evidence to the contrary, but I find it difficult to believe that Ottawa is not 365 days in winter. I know the stories about the Dutch princess being brought into the world in war time Canada -- apparently a kitty box of Netherlands soil 'neath the bed so we couldn't claim the Royal Bundle Bunny as own in the next Eaton's Most Beautiful Baby Contest. And I know this resulted in the annual spring Tulip Festival. But I don't get it.

Here's what I love about Ottawa: skating on the canal, stopping for free hot chocolate, skating more, stopping for free soup, skating more, buying a beaver tail and eating it, skating more, singing william Perry's "Jerusalem" at the top of my lungs BADLY as I make it to Dow's Lake, then repeating the process in reverse.

At the end of the day you catch sight of yourself in a shop window and realize it looks like you rolled in the beaver tail because of the amount of it spread on your sweater and in your hair. Briefly you pause, consider how much hot water and conditioner you'll need to rectify the mess you have become. Then you shrug and just go buy another beaver tail. Maybe you can just even out the distribution of maple butter this time. Better ask for the chocolate too. It matches your hair colour better. And if you have to, you can always go for thirds. With a chaser of insulin.

Its fun. Narry a tulip as far as the eye can see. And with respect and gratitude to the Dutch for the bizzlion bulbs they have provided over the years, I don't miss them.

Ottawa is winter.