Well, my version, anyway. Meaning, gardening in rain.
My backyard is still a big soupy mess, but the tiny front patch we have is full of bulbs that have started to peek up. I can't find half my tools and had to improvise a kneeling pad out of a bath towel, but I succeeded in planting the cutest darn pansies you've ever seen today. I now have that familiar, maddening feeling of not being able to get all of the dirt from underneath my fingernails. I have short and stubby man-nails so you'd think it wouldn't be all that hard. But it is.
I've now made it halfway through the edit of my third draft, which is a good thing. The first half of the book takes place in the winter and the second half in the summer, so I'm more in tune with action in the part of the book that needs the most work, now that spring has finally arrived.
I find it challenging to write out of season, probably because my life (and my characters) are so closely tied to seasonal activities, like gardening, sailing, patio hopping. It's nice to actually see the sun while you're writing about the sun, and since Toronto is engulfed in a morose grey from November to late March, I'm thrilled to have it back. There's something about the weather that helps set the tone for scenes, I think.
On another note, BHJ and I had the good fortune to attend an event in the Toronto Storyteller series last Sunday, which was the "Cabaret: Letting Down our Hair" performance at the Lula Lounge. Dinner was excellent and the storytelling was eminently entertaining. Nice to see that the oral tradition of storytelling is still alive and well. All in all, a great night, and definitely something that we'll check out again next year.