Snow Daze

 

It’s snowing. I’m in my room writing about it, reminiscing about Christmases past when the only seasonal white stuff was the whipped cream on Mum’s Boxing Day trifle, or recalling one winter day when I stood with my father in the living room and watched a rare flurry outside the window.

I said, “Isn’t it pretty?”

Dad growled, “I hate snow.”

It’s definitely different when you don’t have to operate in it.

I remember some winters when Mum would do a massive grocery shopping in response to a menacing forecast. Once the kitchen was fully stocked, she would come into the living room and announce, “Now it can snow.” We’d all breathe a sigh of relief, knowing hearty soups and fresh-baked baps were in the works no matter how frightful was the weather outside.

These days, even on the west coast, snow seems an annual inevitability. I don’t remember a recent winter without it; in fact, a major snowfall in the Before Time prompted the Powers That Be to order laptops for all staff during the computer refresh (admin staff typically received desktops) so we could work from home on heavy snow days. The computers were also outfitted with VPN access, and whatever technology was required to keep the system from crashing was boosted to avoid a network catastrophe. (I wonder if our directors had a communal premonition, as it sure came in handy when COVID hit.)

Used to be that snow fell in January or February. Now it seems bent on wrecking Christmas, or at least one’s Christmas vacation, by dumping before festive preparations are complete. This year, the first round fell on November 7, followed almost exactly two weeks later by a second round. I now have a strategy to outwit the winter by either picking up my computer—my rig is left at the office on weekends so it gets its updates on schedule—or keeping it at home if it snows later in the week. It’s much less stressful to be on vacation, though today’s snowfall is interfering with last minute Christmas shopping; not mine, but everyone else’s, and that’s an extra stress on people already teetering on the edge.

My snowmance continues, however, with images of hot tea, fat novels and cozy blankets. Ter suffers more, being prone to cabin fever long before I get restless. She’s never actually declared a loathing for it, but a snow advisory can rattle her until she’s able to restock the pantry. Then she emerges from the kitchen to announce, “Now, it can snow.”

Vampire Rain

The rain/snow/sleet/hail pings on the window pane behind me. The morning dawned grey and cold in the raw, rainforest winter way that makes your finger bones ache within minutes of stepping outside. It’s my day off, so no worry of having to venture into the unfriendly weather, but my plan to work with Caius and Aurelia is hijacked by my desire to write a vampire story.

I tend to write vampires in winter. Not so much in summer. No idea why.

*wink*

Anyway, last year, I began a vampire story that remains unfinished. It might get done this year. This winter, in fact, if I can keep my mojo going; it took a while, but I have reacquainted myself with the story so far and gained a little traction in getting it where it has to go.

I already know the ending. It’s the centrepiece in a trio of tales, the first of which, titled “Reunion”, was written in 2013. I’ve been sitting on the first line of the third part since then, with a relatively clear idea of how the trilogy will end—only in 2013 I had no idea that it was a trilogy. All I knew—all I still know—is that I am in no hurry to write what is now the third story.

Simply put, someone is going to die.

In avoiding what I thought was the sequel to “Reunion”, it came to me that a significant part of the greater story was missing, so a duo became a trio. I started writing the bridge last summer. It’s unusual for me to start a vampire story in August, but since this one takes place in Morocco, it was helpful to be sweltering while writing about the heat. Revisiting it now is part of my non-NY resolution to finish something in 2017, especially if it was started in a previous year.

Am I having fun with it? Actually, I am. I’m familiar with the characters and understand their MOs, and one of them wants the story finished almost as much as I do. He’s hardly impatient, but I sense that he’s getting tired. I also sense that my reluctance to complete the trilogy doesn’t make a darned bit of difference to him—and suddenly, I let go on a strangely comforting revelation.

He will tell me when it’s time to write that third story.

Snow What?

photo courtesy of Ter

I am a snowmantic. I love the idea of snow. A pristine blanket of sparkling white, evergreens draped in a thick layer of frosting or a cityscape glazed in royal icing—any or all of these images will excite my creativity and set me to fantasizing. I am often inspired to write snowy scenes. I adore the mental images of winter furs and dappled grey horses in a black and white wood. More compelling is the comfort of a scene in a cafe, of Christmas shoppers taking refuge from the weather over steaming eggnog lattes or peppermint hot chocolate.

Snow at night is even better than snow in sun—it’s a joy to be bundled in your jammies or wrapped in an oversized sweater, cradling a mug of spiced apple cider or sweet milky tea while snow falls thick and soft outside the window. Creating the mystical glow that brightens the dark and makes the stars seem sharper in the sky.

The crunch of your boots breaking the crust on that first foray outdoors. The bracing scent of Arctic cold and the shock of it reaching your lungs. Skating outdoors on a frozen pond. Slinging your skates over your shoulder and hiking home in deep drifts of snow. (Okay, I’ve never done that, but Ter did when she lived in Alberta.) Brightly coloured parkas and Nordic patterned mittens, striped scarves and tasselled toques, sleds and toboggans and snowball fights in the schoolyard.

Sounds good, doesn’t it?

What I tend to forget is ... snow is cold. It is usually accompanied by a colder wind. It might be fun as it gathers on your hood, but once inside the drugstore where you’ve trudged to get batteries for the flashlight in case the power cuts out, don’t lower your head or melted snow will pee all over your summer sneaks because this is Victoria and who needs winter boots out west?

Chances are, a pair of good ones won’t pay themselves off because it’s so rare, but when snow does arrive in the Garden City, it is not the snow you knew when you were a kid in Alberta or Quebec. It is wet, heavy, slippery, stubborn snow with a mercifully short shelf life but a brutally obstreperous nature. It melts fast and freezes solid. Walking an icy sidewalk becomes an extreme sport unless you have cleats. Driving is okay if you have proper tires (Tiggy’s were upgraded to all weather from all season last year) and no one else is on the road, otherwise it’s demo derby on the highways and byways. As little as two centimetres will stress us out and shut us down.

I had the idea for this post before the winter hit us last week. We only endured a few days of light-by-Canadian-standard snowfall, but it was rougher than it was a pleasure and all I can say with any certainty is our plan for retiring to Canmore has been relegated to the Hall of Doof Ideas.

Merry Christmas.

Go West, Young Girl!

it's always springtime somewhere

Got an email from Nicole this morning. Poor kid, seems like every time she digs herself out from under the snow, another dump happens, and with three more storms in the forecast for this week, she’s feeling pretty beleaguered by Old Man Winter.

Much as I sympathize with her, I am also grateful. No matter what it’s like in the rest of the country—or the province, for that matter—spring has arrived in Victoria. In fact, passing the park en route to work last Thursday, I blurted to Ter: “Cherry blossoms!”

Nic’s note inspired me to take the Canon on a photographic flânerie this radiant Sunday morning. Big clouds over the water, the sun glowing overhead, and lingering raindrops sparkle like jewels on every bush and blade of grass. The songbirds are doing their collective nut in the flowering trees, and I was lucky to spy the pictured nest amid the aforementioned cherry blossoms. I was even luckier to need no more than my hoodie and a t-shirt on my stroll; I can always tell the imports by the parkas and raingear they bring from the suburbs, not knowing what conditions await them at the ocean.

It’s brisk but mild, a perfect spring day. With 10-15 mms of rain expected to blow in overnight, this gorgeous morning was an unexpected gift. Strained as her tone was, Nic’s note was also a gift, because it made me aware of how truly blessed I am to be here, where the winters last for weeks rather than months and the last snow “storm” we had was in January 2012.

In no way is this post intended as a gloat—there are natural perils out west, as well. Joggers plague every pavement year-round. Purse dogs perennially skitter hither and yon on the same pavements.  A sweater in the morning is too heavy for the afternoon. When it pours, it literally pours with rain. And best of all, we are sitting in a subduction zone that, when the earthquake hits, will likely send Victoria the way of Atlantis.

But not today.

sailboats off the point

The Warmth of Winter

It sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s really not. It’s contrast. When it’s cold and blustery outside, the warmth and light inside create a special sense of comfort unique to the darkest of the four seasons. The deeper the darkness, the brighter is the fire. The lower the mercury drops, so increase the pleasures of hearth and home. Scents are sharper, food is heartier, laughter is more resonant. Winter is a time of contrast in the extreme for, as Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, abundance rejoices and want is more keenly felt. The disparity between the haves and have-nots is more noticeable, perhaps because the haves are prompted to pay more attention during the coldest months. Charitable opportunities are everywhere, and many of us take advantage to share our wealth in whatever way we can. The point is that we do it and, for a few days at least, everyone benefits.

Time is limited as ever, but even then, we spend more of it with family and friends, enjoying tea and company in a cosy room while the elements rage beyond our windows; sitting ’round a table with co-workers, swapping silly gifts and stories long after the scheduled lunch hour is over; shopping like mad yet smiling more easily at strangers in the checkout lineup.

Snow is picturesque. Sleigh bells are the merriest sound in a crisp December twilight. Hot chocolate is better laced with rum or Bailey’s … or both. I dislike the cold, but I like to walk in it, probably because I’ll be warm when I get home. And Christmas music, no matter what jaded old tune is being played, remains a treasured constant through the holidays.

And after New Year, when the lights come down and the darkness closes in, when it’s a challenge to fight through ’til April, the memories of that winter warmth will sustain me.

With love,

Snow!

look reeeeeeeeeeally hard at the roof next door

The Christmas tree went up last Friday. Ter and I worked all day on it—and, to be fair, on the rest of the house, too—and look what happened overnight! Snow!

Our neighbours are night owls. It’s not unusual for their lights to be on through the wee hours, and on Saturday morning at 3:30, I woke up to a glowier-than-normal glow from beyond the curtain. I can usually disregard it, but I’ve been dealing with a hormonal imbalance of late that’s made nighttime less restful than I prefer, so getting back to sleep was a losing battle. Finally I flopped onto my back and glared at the ceiling. Realizing that I could see the ceiling, I thought, Oh, good grief, don’t tell me that they have the bedroom light on next door. Grumble grumble grumble … well, might as well get up and trek to the loo since that’ll become an issue in another hour …

I got up, trudged into the hall, and paused in the doorway to the living room. The window is bare in that room; one day we’ll get around to hanging a curtain but for now we like the light, and during nocturnal traipses you can get an idea of what’s happening weatherwise with a glance. I detoured to investigate if the neighbours really were aiming to vex with an upstairs light and to my amazement, their windows were dark. The glow was actually coming from the thin layer of snow lying on their roof.

Snow! In November! On the first night after we put up the tree!

I forgot about the loo and hoofed it down to the Ocean Room, where a silent blanket of white was forming outside, on the cars, the lawn, the trees, the houses … and in the light of the corner streetlamp, tiny flakes danced and whirled in the playful wind. I was so excited that I almost woke Ter. The luxury of snow on a weekend was surely worth sharing, until I remembered her hair appointment at 11:45. That meant the snow had better be gone before then and if it wasn’t … Okay, I spared her a heart attack and preserved my joy, and true to the nature of a west coast snowfall, it was mostly gone by daylight.

But the little dusting was delicious.