I, In My Kerchief
Since I was expecting full-on Grinch Fever to commence at any moment, imagine my surprise when, like a gas fireplace, my Christmas Cheer lighted pretty much on queue this year. Despite that I definitely know better, the arrival of winter since the turn of the month has seemed Not So Bad, and, upon reflection, even Rather Cheery.
Chilly days gave way to the first measurable snowfall over the weekend, and the cosmos had the foresight to match it with my first foray into the shops for the gift hunt. The infant winter, you see, has a habit of wiping the memory of even the most cruel, egregious Marches and Aprils of last year. Sure, eight months ago, I was cursing the slush, crying “never again!”, but every year, I fall for the same trick. The glint of fresh flakes under the sharp, white sunlight. A happy, playful dog bounding across a smoothly blanketed field. A cup of hot cocoa. Did I mention I’m peeling my fourth clementine of the day? And yet, summer seems like just yesterday. As a consequence, I’ve decided that when winter really cranks into gear, spring will seem like just tomorrow.
Montreal wasn’t directly in the line of fire for the big snowstorm; we got a mere two or three inches. So I was a little surprised when the lead story on the TV news last night was The Big Storm. I understand the Americans getting their knickers in a twist over a couple of feet of snow, but Canada? Come on! And heck, even New England ought to be used to this kind of thing by now, right? I’m as weather-obsessed as the next guy — and then some — but snow isn’t news. It’s big, it’s small, it’s heavy and wet, it’s light and fluffy, it’s white, it’s grey, it’s brown, but unless it’s in Los Angeles, it’s not news.
My favourite part of these sorts of news stories is when they interview The Average Local Guy, who sagely remarks to the Toronto-based interviewer that, “It’s a good old fashioned New Brunswick storm; we’re used to that here you know.” It’ll be tough for a couple of days, don’tchya-know, but we’ll get by. This time they even interviewed The Guy Whose Car Was Buried In A Parking Lot, who noted that although he’d talk to the snow plough guy, he didn’t think he’d get any special treatment.
Ooh, hard-hitting journalism at its finest. And now, this just in: you often get wet when you stand in the rain.
Previously: The Empire of Cheap
Subsequently: C’est-à-dire
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