A post about the weather. (And I’m not even forty.)
Perhaps it’s my age, or the fact that I have to hibernate in the company of people who dump copious amounts of liquid on hardwood floors – for fun – but I’ve grown weary of winter. For the first time in my life I’m checking weather forecasts for any signs (false promises) of above zero temperatures.
I vividly recall a conversation with friends sometime in November. Early November, when we were still in the throes of a warm-ish Fall. ‘Maybe winter will just skip Calgary this year,’ someone joked-wished aloud. ‘No,’ another was quick to dash her preposterous hopes, ‘the Farmer’s Almanac said it’s going to be a bad winter.’
And I silently hoped that maybe this would be the year the Farmer’s Almanac was wrong. Maybe it would be an unusually warm winter instead of a really bad winter. But it wasn’t. Hasn’t been.
Last Friday we were ten minutes early for the post-school pick up. ‘We play at the park?’ the weary-of-being-inside Hen begged. The car-van’s temperature gauge assured me it was 8 degrees outside. (That’s -13 for the metrics in the room.) ‘Okay,’ I relented. Eight degrees! That’s warm-ish, right?
‘It’s only ten minutes until pick-up’, I tried to reassure my skeptical self. ‘Surely we can handle un-warm weather for ten minutes.’ Or not. ‘I’m cold,’ the Hen announced with chattering teeth and bright red cheeks, after about five minutes of playing at the swings. ‘I know,’ I concurred, ‘just a few more minutes,’ I begged.
Yesterday, the car insisted it was 15 Fahrenheit as we drove home after school. (That’s minus…9…Celsius) The Gort was dead-set on running inside the house as fast as possible so he could start constructing the Lego set he’d received as a birthday gift.
‘No,’ I delayed his after school plans. ‘We need to walk outside for ten minutes.’ There was weeping. And gnashing of teeth. But I wasn’t going to budge. (Do I ever?) So we walked. All four of us. Because the baby of the family is equally tired of being indoors. He insisted on walking alone. (I have to say, an eighteen month old bumbling along snowy sidewalks toute seule is an adorable sight.)
There was a spot on the sidewalk, near the senior citizens’ community center, where the sun was shining directly in my face. And there was no wind. And it felt like it could be 22 degrees.
I wanted to stay there, forever. ‘Maybe we can make this a twenty minute walk,’ I thought to myself; really maximize this ‘fabulous’ weather. But when we turned a corner, the wind returned and the sun disappeared and I found myself urging the boys to hurry home already.
My new best friend, the weather forecast, assures me it will be close to 39 degrees tomorrow. (Four). I may wear shorts.
(For a blast from winters past, click here.)