This
past weekend the weather finally stumbled out of the deep freeze that most of us
have been suffering through for far too many days. On Saturday, here, it was a
balmy 46 degrees. But the slight wind kept us from feeling any warmth. Instead
of just being cold, this past weekend we were cold and
wet.
I
think a good half of the snow we had here melted. But it didn’t really melt
away. It pooled and became watery ice and then, overnight, it would
harden again. The snow in our back yard is now ice-covered, which I don’t mind,
necessarily. Tuffy, however, doesn’t care for it.
I
should qualify that. He doesn’t like walking over it, but does like that the
last few days have been milder. He’s been able to stay outside longer, allowing
him to take complete olfactory inventory of every critter who, over the last
couple of weeks, dared to enter his yard when he was tucked up safe and warm
inside.
He’s a
dog (no longer a puppy since he turned 1 on Christmas Day) who enjoys his front
porch and his back yard. We did keep him in over the worst of the cold, not
letting him out at all—not even for a minute. This meant making sure we had a
pad down for him, which he used properly. But he’s little, and that wasn’t too
bad an ordeal for either of us (him or me) to endure.
My
dear husband returned to work on January 6, after being home for 17 straight
days. Or I should say, he tried to return to work. They worked a half day on
Monday, and then were sent home upon arrival on Tuesday, because of the bitter
cold. Quarry work is outside work and company policy does cite the lowest
temperature for working. The temperatures here were below that.
Thank
God Wednesday turned out to be a full day on the job for him. Murder was
therefore, fortunately, averted.
It’s
amazing, in a way, how quickly I was spoiled by two previous winters that only
had a couple of minor cold snaps, and snow that kept melting away completely.
It’s been a lot of years since we had snow that came in early December and
stayed. I think I’ve lost my immunity to the weather that I used to have. Going
outside every morning to take David to work, and then again to pick him up in
the afternoon had me used to being out in the snow and ice. Now, I only venture
out Thursday afternoons to bring him home. Sometimes not even that. When it’s
been a couple of weeks since I made that trek to the next county, I’m always
shocked at the progression of the season.
The
very poor condition of some of our roads these last few days has been another
shock. In some areas the plows hadn’t done a very good job; in others, they were
too enthusiastic, and left potholes behind to prove it.
One
result of that ice storm that we had here in Southern Ontario a few days before
Christmas was that within a day of it, there was no safety salt left to be had
at any of the stores.
In
fact, we were unable get any as late as yesterday. The manager of our local
grocery store said salt was en route, on Sunday. We’re still waiting.
In the interim, I mostly stayed inside the house. I’m at the point
in my life where falls are to be avoided at all costs.
Monday, my
eleven year old grandson came over with his sister, and he took a shovel and
cleared the ice from my walkway. He’s growing up to be a good little
man.
Most
people are lamenting about how long this winter has seemed already. We have,
potentially, two months of the season left to go. In this area of life only, I
take a pessimistic view, and I believe that view actually leads to an optimistic
outlook.
Most
people cling to that outdated tenet that winter “officially” begins on December
20th or 21st, depending. Not me. October first, baby. That
is the first day of winter in my book, and it doesn’t stay here in my part of
Canada for a paltry three months. No siree, it’s ours for half a
year.
And by
that reckoning, we are already nearly two-thirds done with the bitch. Ground Hog
Day is in just 18 days. It’s just about time to celebrate.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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