2/17/17

Here we are in the Wednesday of the winter. The halfway point, the middle, and indeed as good Canadians, we are still shoveling to make it to the summit of snow. I think we can stop. We won. Yes indeed, we did. We came first for the win. A triple play, we had three, yes one, two, three, Nor’easters in a row. With temperature ranges and barometric pressures to start migraines of magnitudes.

The big news was we were storm free for Valentines Day. The big little city last week, on Thursday to be exact, 28 centimeters of snow had fallen by 4 p.m. with the downfall expected to continue into the eventide, and it did. That’s on top of 35 centimeters the little metropolis had received in the blizzard that blanketed the southern half of the province on Monday. Then 19 centimeters on Feb. 9, and 14 centimeters on Feb. 8.

If I calculated it up properly the total coming is a whopping, 96 cm, whatever that is it is a lot. Highways closed then open then closed. Provincial plows pulled with regularity. There were still despite warnings, ill equipped semi tractor trucks, cars and people on the roads. The police shouting loudly on any media, social or otherwise, they had, “don’t go, do not to go, stay home.” 75 had to be rescued, during a blizzard, defined as not being able to see anything for four hours, via snowmobiles. This called for coordination of resources, emergency vehicles, plows, police and volunteers, which kept us, who did not venture far from home entertained, and clucking.

While walking her majesty, on city streets, after being interviewed on the patriot radio station in both official languages, as an aberration for the time and place,  an ambulance stopped to say hello to her. I said “it must be quiet.” They had “not stopped all shift.” I have a roomer that had paid me rent for the month, and has spent more time at home, because she cannot get here. She left and has not been heard of since, last week.

At the start of this month, let me point out, we could see the grass and were convinced we were having a mild winter. The ground hog lied. There was an ice storm, of significance with the province shutting down. Electricity was out for days on end. Scaring the new Canadians across the street.

One of the middle storms of significance, I had the brain wave to leave it, piles of it, the snow that is, and try and shovel the next morning. What was I thinking? Big mistake, I almost perished, moving it, being supervised by men with machines whirling around the streets. That snow was heavy. Thus with the most recent accumulations, I was out and about, taking the shovel with me to the end of the lane and front walk, frequently.

To save money I did not hire anyone to clear the front or back walks, thinking “it will not be as bad as last year.” I am freely admitting I was wrong. It does not happen often, but this time and probably next year too, will think the same thing and be thinking the same thing. WHY. Does this come as such a surprise every year. I cannot get into the back yard. It is impossible, as the privacy fence is under a foot or maybe two of snow. I have shoveled along a path that the wind has kept clear for the dog to go and do her business. That will be fun in the sun in the springtime. We did walk, in the storms, but not enough and her majesty had me up thru the night and shoveling the doorway clear. In self defense, I while clearing the snow in the front of the house, knocked one the bushes free of its encasement of the white stuff, otherwise I would not be able to see outside.

The weather people are assuring us that we have sunshine and roses for a couple of days. Just issued on that advice an invitation to my Muslim friends across the street to a sliding party put on by a church. 

The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love. Margaret Atwood, Miss Lucy and MOI