Lamenting Winter

The winter solstice was yesterday.  Theoretically that means that the days will now start getting longer again, but in practice I still can't take advantage of the extra daylight.  Since the Autumnal Equinox we have been losing 4 minutes of daylight each day.  Maybe it started earlier, but I only started noticing it when mountain biking after work ceased to be an option.  I think it was in September.  If we start gaining daylight minutes at the same rate at which we lost them - 4 minutes a day - that only means that soon enough I won't be leaving the office in the dark.  That's not much to work with.  Furthermore, we can now look forward to getting snow and slush and ice and all the things that make winter driving such a pleasure.  They will stick around until late March, and then everything will just be wet and rotten for another month.  No, I don't like winter.  As I curse the winter all winter long, in my mind I'll still be living in last summer, on the one hand digging my car out of the driveway at work, on the other hand remembering the afternoon at Hilton Falls when my friend and I ditched our bikes for long enough to crawl through a river and creep over and under rocks and in behind a waterfall, speculating how heavy the falling water must be and wishing I had brought my camera.  While peeling myself off the icy sidewalk again and hoping to have yet again dodged a broken hip, I'll remember the giant beetle my boyfriend and I found while throwing a tarp over our tent in the midst of an early-morning rainstorm, camping at Awenda.  By February, as cabin fever starts setting in and getting to me, I'll be off in another land, drinking imported beer and playing Scrabble on the front porch at the cottage while my father plays his saxophone to anyone within earshot.  Somewhere around that time the nostalgia will hit and I'll go out and buy a pair of sandals in March, not because I can wear them but because I simply need to convince myself that the warmer weather is coming back, that I won't be constricted by snow and ice and walls much longer.  Right now it's only December, though.  And just the thought of having passed the solstice gives me goosebumps and shivers.

Mnemonic Devices

My camera died on me last week.  I don't know... charged the battery up and when I tried to turn it on again, nothing.  Got it checked with different batteries, nothing.  The camera's a couple of years old, so that it should just up and die didn't surprise me all that much.  However, it surprises me how strange I feel without it.  My camera is something I always carry with me, but rarely pull out.  Almost like a security blanket.  Actually, very much like a security blanket, now that I think of it.  I love photographs.  The only reason I post so many on my facebook page is so that I can flip through them from any computer I happen to be sitting at and relive my happiest moments or escape to my happy place.  In such a light, the camera is an amazing mnemonic device.  Yesterday night I was at a friend's Christmas party/concert in town, one not entirely unlike every other show I've seen him perform.  Great show, great crowd, great time.  No camera.  I actually borrowed someone else's camera several times throughout the evening to take pictures.  I'll be able to flip through them later.  I can't help but wonder, though, with so many good times in my life, so many great parties and happy situations and peaceful locales, and no shortage of memories to flip through, what is it I'm so worried about forgetting?

"Twilight of the Idols"... a personal interpretation

Blood runs thick.

I opened the ski season this past weekend with my Uncle. There were only two runs open with one lift, but the conditions were great all things considered. The sun was out, the temperature clung to zero, and the snow was a nice, thick powder. My uncle and I got separated for a couple of runs, which I wasn’t too worried about. In such a small area, we were bound to find each other again, and as a last resort we had a plan to meet for lunch at 1:00. It didn’t work out that way. After a few runs without seeing my uncle, I opted to wait at the bottom of the hill for 5-10 minutes, thinking it would give him time to finish a complete run if he were on the lift at that exact minute. After about ten minutes of waiting, a skier was brought down to the first aid station on a sled. I watched the hustle and bustle from a distance for awhile. The fallen skier’s green jacket worried me, as my uncle had been wearing a green jacket, but I talked myself out of it several times… the guy’s a strong skier, and I can’t remember ever having seen him fall in my life. He was faster than me, stronger than me, more controlled on the hills than I was. The hills we were on were child’s play for a man planning to ski in Europe for three months this winter. I watched for what felt like a really long time, trying hard not to stare at the fallen skier on the sled (I don’t want to be taken as rude), trying to convince myself that the man wasn’t wearing glasses under the red ski goggles, trying to convince myself it was a terrible coincidence, and then every so often looking up at the hill, hoping to see my uncle skiing over to the lift. I didn’t want to just go up to the sled and look. If it wasn’t my uncle, some poor guy might be even more embarrassed at his ill fortune, having become a spectacle. When the ski patrol brought the fallen skier’s skis down and planted them in the snow, there was no more fooling myself and I approached the first aid station, nervous about what I would find. I found my uncle with what turned out to be a compound fracture in his leg. No drama, no missteps, the binding on his ski broke off, he lost his ski, he felt something inside his boot, thought “That’s interesting”, and fell. Once we got to the hospital and the boot came off, he was asked about how much pain he felt on a scale of one to ten, and he answered three, maybe four. He mused that he always thought a broken bone would hurt a lot more. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. It’s such a shame it wears off eventually.

Bones heal, and everything will be fine in the end. I could tell all about the nurses’ ski injury pool, the nurses’ congratulations for the surprising magnitude of the fracture, the orthopedic surgeon with the sharp Scottish accent and my family’s sense of humour… but this is not a news report or a gossip column. As much as I seem to find in the situation that amuses me, this was a wakeup call like no other. In my mind, the day was never supposed to come where I’m driving my elders to the hospital with ski injuries. These things were never supposed to happen. As much as what actually happened out there on the hill was not a reflection of waning ability on my uncle’s part, I realized that I was instantly being launched into a new realm… the generations have passed over, and we, my cousins, my brothers and I, need to prepare ourselves for a new family dynamic, a new set of responsibilities. As much as I know my father and (in time) my uncle will always tell us to depend on them in a time of crisis, we’re reaching the point where we need to be able to ‘take care of things’, to take charge of situations. We need to be able to return the favour, and to let our elders depend on us on the same token. Beyond honour, obligation, filial duty… I’d be lying to deny that it’s scary. Our heroes are becoming human.