Sunday
graced us with hours of freezing rain. At least it was on 6” of
snow that buffered it from the ground. Me thinks everyone listened
to the same forecast of flash freeze and doors opened with neighbours
rushing out to clear their drives. I went out twice and was
thoroughly soaked each time but it had to be done as the ever loved
snow plow operator had already passed. TWICE. My shoulders ached
as if I had shovelled a ton of coal. I was not a happy camper seeing
three, ahem, “neighbours” out with their snow blowers and not one
yelling over the drone “Yo! Cheryl, I'll be right over”. Women never forget.
Nursing
the soreness and drying clothes I was preparing me self for another
go to shovel the bloody bank when what to me ears did I hear but me
savour! Dear Dale, a kind man who had just put in a third 12 hour
shift arriving with his blower. 10 minutes and it was cleared. I ran
out with gift in hand shouting “I LOVE YOU” and he awww shucks
apologized for not coming early. Geeez, I hadn't expected him at
all knowing his schedule. The best long distance neighbour I've ever
had.
The week
became worser. -40C temperature on Wednesday made everything freeze
solid. My house was banging all night, the house people.
The Butternut tree was equally showing its disdain for the cold
slamming its overhanging limb on the pergola. For years one limb has
rested on two beams. It has become a measure of weather. I know
when the winds are wicked because the limb rubs and squeak. Visitors
are told it's just talking so talk back. Mind you there are always a
few eyebrows raised when I say that.
Another
sign of cold is the train whistle. I live not far from the freight
line that bisects this town and like most citizens who have lived
here for what seems eons never hear it. Until the
temperature lowers to an unbearable level unfit for man or beast to
be oot and aboot. When I actually notice it in my home I know it is
cold, damn cold. That means it's so cold it's time to don, gasp,
socks and slippers and throw an extra blankie on the bed AND the
window remains closed.
I won't write about the layers of clothes. Ok I shall. Socks, boots, pants (in no way do I wear a dress in this weather), sweater, parka, scarf, mitts (gloves are not advised because fingers keep warmer touching each other), and perhaps a hat. Mind you the hat leads to dreadful hat hair due to the static electricity and it is so unbecoming that I prefer a hooded parka. One must endeavour to remain fashionable, in a way, doncha know. And that's just for outside. I won't mention what we need to wear working in a 100 year old building with no insulation, except the alpaca mitts make rather funny typo's in emails.
Today we
joked about the temperature and in true Canadian style stated you
know you're Canadian when you remark “only -22 you say, well isn't
that balmy”.
My husband was donating plasma and you need to rest after that, but we had a couple of feet of snow. I went out with a shovel surrounded by men and snow blowers. Finally somebody offered and I let them... Whew
ReplyDeleteA big whew! Michelle.
DeleteThat snow with a crust of ice wasn't fun to move. I did all the snow shovelling around here, just me and my little shovel, for years until my husband retired last year and took over. A new snow blower promptly arrived! I don't miss the job. Sheri
ReplyDeleteThe yard still looks like icebergs with huge shards everywhere. I wouldn't miss the job either Sheri.
Deleteit seems like you are an excellent writer.
ReplyDeleteSeems? Interesting
Deletefeel free to join our poets rally today,
ReplyDeleteread, comment, and get inspired while inspiring our peers.
hope to see you soon.
Thank you in advance.
http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2015/01/thursday-poets-rally-week-79-january-14.html
Thanks for the invite Maggie but it really needs to update its site. And the "rules" I don't abide by. A tad out of date wouldn't you say.
Delete