Of the 23 Victoria Day weekends I’ve experienced since I came to Canada, this was only the third where it didn’t pour buckets all three days. This year, it actually seemed like the first long weekend of the summer (I’m ignoring the rain promised for this afternoon). I spent it doing nothing with great abandon and meandering around the neighbourhood, connecting with other people again after a long hibernation.
It was a pretty good weekend for the memory banks. There was the Chow Chow with a spring haircut that made it look like a lion. I watched six couples doing the tango in the sunshine by a fountain and refuse to speculate why – it’d ruin the moment. And I read Hypocrite in a Poufy White Dress in the park, surrounded by the smell of green things.
Most importantly, I haven't worn socks since Thursday.