People, I feel a little nutty. Vancouver, BC has had heavy snow for ten days. This is a temperate rainforest, and we have not had this much snow since the '60's. The snow-clearing budget is pretty much tapped out, and they only clear the main arteries anyway. Sporadically. And of course not on holidays.
I couldn't even get out of my parking space on Christmas. My holiday was electronic, greetings exchanged by phone and email. I don't have snow tires. Hardly anyone does. Why bother, when all you usually get is a few inches per year? I ate my lovingly prepared Ukrainian cooking by myself. So you know I'm not totally hopeless, I froze some to share later. There will be life after this crisis.
The streets are dominated by two types of drivers. First, the Hummerers/SUVers who are finally getting a chance to prove the purchase price was worth it. I am sick of them crowing about it online. I don't even stick my foot out at the crosswalk when I see them coming. It's like yuppie NASCAR.
And secondly, people in teeny putt putts who are in denial. There's one in every snowbank, the car roof looking like a cocoa puff floating in a bowl of milk. The sound of gears grinding is everywhere, and burned rubber floats in the air.
Earlier in the week, I stood at the bus stop for forty-five minutes, waiting for the number 20. Three people informed me my bus had toppled over. I decided to believe the third one. Yep, one of those freaky articulated beasts had finally jackknifed like a dying dinosaur. I always knew it would happen; I'd just hoped it wouldn't be anywhere near me. Trees have fallen on the Skytrain tracks in two locations. People are stuck all over the city.
Christmas Eve, I put on my backpack and hiked through the drifts for lettuce, red peppers and a couple of suet blocks. Despite two layers of protective plastic, my miniature poinsettia didn't survive the walk home. I only bought it because I felt sorry. It was stunted and $1.99. At home, I saw the label said Pinched Species. Oh. It was meant to be puny. The tiny pile of miniscule, dropped scarlet leaves by my computer makes me sad.
The wintering songbirds are starving. Wildlife biologists are asking us to feed them. They're having gang rumbles on my balcony over peanut butter. Not the biologists. They're snug at home having biological thoughts.
The long range forecast? Snow. Snow mixed with rain, so footing will be even more slippery. Then more snow.
The good things are: I'm writing. Boy, am I writing. And the swimming pool (with whirlpool) is only two blocks away. It was open today, thank the Lord of swimmers, and nearly empty. The library is next door to it. And if I can manage to trudge through the snowbanks in the park, a swing is waiting for me.
Copyright 2008 Reisa Stone
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