So, Saskatchewan. Walked across the tarmac in Regina shivering like a bunch of castanets. -45 with the wind chill. No I am not kidding. You know how it is when you take a breath and your lips, lungs and inside of your nose freeze solid? Like that. Thank heavens my car, air bnb, local restaurant and schools were all well heated. Actually, I had a great time in Regina and Saskatoon, hanging out with a couple of the '7' authors and chatting to large bunches of goofy kids. Among other things I learned that St Timothy was one of the guys Paul sent letters to. (Apparently the fast route to sainthood is to be on Paul's Christmas list.) Man, the prairie cold is a real thing -- not like our southern Ontario version. Yeah, I know, wet cold get here is supposed to make you feel worse than dry cold, but numbers don't lie and -45, no matter how dry, is plenty plenty cold.
A week earlier I was jogging around a person-made lagoon in dry, sunny, 27-degree weather, on my way to the 'blue' souk to grab prezzies for my kids (there are two kinds of souks -- blue and gold. The gold one only deals in precious metals, and my kids are not getting those kinds of prezzies). I saw a totally unexpected --
Shoot, time has done its thing and I am late. How does that happen? I still haven't said much about Sharjah. Remind me to tell you about my televised panel discussion with the lit. professors and minister of education. Topic: 'The Nectar Of Meaning.' Oh yeah. Scrimger playing with the big kids. Til soon.
