In the midst of packing the most unattractive clothing on the planet for the trek to James Bay, I get a call. There will apparently be snowmobiles involved. There are apparently now snow pants involved. I already have in two pairs of these weird paddy pants and a bazillion underarmour thingees, and hats and gloves and mitts and boots and hotshots and things, and now I'm just debating bringing an electric blanket and a long, long extension cord.
I have practiced being cold by going down to the basement to fold laundry wearing only a t-shirt. I lasted two minutes, then pulled on one of the boys' hoodies. I think this does not bode well for me.
I will attempt to Twitter on the road; if you don't follow already, I don't blame you. Twitter is pretty stupid. But anyway. Go to @Tweeetlorraine and sign in. Yes, I'm aware that's spelled wrong.
The only ones visibly upset that I'm going are the cats, as usual. Maggie is wondering who she is going to sit on all day and sleep on all night. JoJo is wondering who will be up before noon to feed her. I am wondering how far north up highway 400 I'm gonna get before I remember what I've forgotten.
Anyhoo. I'm sure it will be interesting. Story set to run in next week's Star...I'll get lots of pics of caribou. Caribous? Whatever.
Oh, a pic from Detroit. Looks like I'm holding hands with the cop. I wasn't. He also wouldn't let me wear his hat. I asked. Nicely. Sigh.