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”.