Check

Checklist for an amazing January:

1. Furnace
2. Fuzzy blankets
3. Wi-Fi
4. Booster cables
5. Alcohol
6. Throat lozenges
7. Mittens
8. Electricity
9. Fireplaces (or perhaps the Fireplace channel)
10. Firewood
11. Repeat quietly as needed: "A little more daylight every day. A little more...."   
12. Chips (because buying fruit might require a second mortgage)
13. Books
14. YouTube
15. Hot chocolate
16. Command start
17. Skidoo
18. Reminder: mosquitos are deader than disco
19. Friends who bring the funny
20. Potluck parties
21. Skating (no skates required, some days)
22. Snow forts
23. Snowshoes
24. Mukluks
25. Hoarfrost
26. An awareness of upcoming Sweet Short February
27. Hoodies (bunny-hugs, kangaroo jackets)
28. People who clear and sand the roads
29. To heck with shaving
30. Mettle (noun): a Canadian’s ability to cope well with difficulties or to face any demanding situation in a spirited and resilient way. Synonyms: fortitude, strength of character, moral fiber, determination, backbone, grit, courage, fearlessness, daring, disposition, nature, temperament, personality, guts, spunk, balls. [See Alberta man who punched a cougar at Tim Horton’s in Whitecourt, nuff said, drops mic.]

Things one should never outgrow:

fishing, no matter when.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Look. Even my shoe looks confused. 

It's difficult to see but the waistband on those cotton boxers in the picture reads fruit-of-the-loom.

Before I go any further, I must say: they are not mine, they are not my son's and I am almost positive they do not belong to the bank manager next door, nor the sweet elderly couple on the other side of my house.

That said, er, why the hell were some guy's size medium underwear lying on the street on my block on my walk to work yesterday? (We know they were size medium because we poked them with a stick.)

And you know what else is weird? Isn't it curious how some everyday type objects suddenly gain this odd power when they are out of context? For example, boxers on the laundry room floor? Expected. Boxers poking out of a suitcase at the airport? No big whoop. Boxers used as wall art at house-parties in University? Typical. But huck your boxers on the road? It's just too random. It's, uber-random. They become like road kill. People are afraid to touch them. Vehicles detour around them. (Even the dogs in the neighbourhood must have avoided them because they were still there on the road when I returned from work at the end of the day.) And yup, people *coughs* even take pictures and blog about them.

These sorts of things ignite my imagination. It's like speculation overload. It's like some sort of hypothesize-a-thon. It's a writer-thing isn't it? It's like the opening for some great mishap-filled novel. Five potential novel openers:

1. "Take them off HERE?"
2. The first object to hit the ground was a pair of cotton boxers.
3. "Honey? I think your underwear fell out of my purse."
4. One might have assumed she drove into the tree in her front yard because her toddler son in the backseat had punched his now-whimpering older brother in the head yet again, but no, it was because she was distracted by the men's cotton boxers lying on the street in front of her house. She knew those boxers.
5. My feet just took control. I pressed on the brake. Put my Jeep in park. Unzipped my pants. Struggled out of my jeans. Stripped off my boxers. Opened the window. Loaded the waistband like a sling-shot. And fired my underwear at her driveway.

Sadly, this is one novel I will likely never read. This mystery will probably remain a question mark.

And speaking of questions, did I mention that for the past few days here the temperature has rarely been above zero degrees Celsius? Not exactly a good time to shed one's gonch.

#shrunkenfruitsoftheloom
#frozengrapes

A Much Needed Sigh

Sometimes Spring comes like a sigh. A much-needed sigh. A deep breath expelled quickly, after all that interminable nonsense is finally over. All that cold and dark and greyness. All that closed in-ness, closed off-ness. Spring is remedy. Spring is my open door.

There was just more light today. The second day. Another day walking home without my toque. And there was more noticing too. Looking down, I noticed sounds that I couldn't possibly hear like the imagined melt-water trickling under the ice, under the sunken snowmobile tracks across the river I cross every day. Looking up, I noticed a few billowy clouds too. Clouds that foreshadow rain. But not rainclouds. Just the promise of rain. Just promise.

I didn't know how much I needed this.

I don't kid myself. I live in Northern Canada. It's not spring yet. As the poet says, "spring is like a perhaps hand." Spring is tentative. Especially here. After winter, it's like it has to learn to walk again. It will be a while before it remembers how to run.

But there's enough for me. Today. Enough to get me through this dress rehearsal for the season I long for always most.

And Spring makes me wonder. Will my son and I still make rivers through the slush? Drain the puddles? Build damns? Play? He's probably too old this year. Yes Spring is "arranging and changing placing."

What would John Wayne do?

Don’t tell the Department of Homeland Security but while visiting the United States recently, I stole a frozen chocolate banana.

My thievery occurred at the end of very enjoyable day spent at Newport Beach, California. What a place. The Pacific Ocean surges and swells and crashes along endless stretches of sand dotted with shells and sand dollars. Palm trees and bike paths line the shore. The fish & chips were deep-fried awesomeness. There’s a huge pier stretching out into the ocean and at the end of it is a sushi restaurant and a spot where locals fish. Seals poke their heads up to stare at those fishing. No shirt, no shoes, no problem at the casual restaurants and shops along the shore. It’s a great place. Just before we left, we decided to buy a snack. Truly an accident, I simply walked out of a beachside food store with the said banana that I thought my wife had already purchased and then when I discovered my mistake our shuttle was about to leave, so I had to run for it. Don’t visualize this. It’s sort of awkward running in your flip-flops with a frozen banana.

Anyway, like most of the food I eat (stolen or not), I felt guilty but I ate it anyway. And now, to be completely honest, I think the USA owes me a few more frozen chocolate bananas. Let me explain.

Since returning from the US, I’ve been doing some research. According to Wikipedia, the USA has the highest minimum tipping expectations of any country in the ENTIRE world. I now understand why sometimes, in the tourist-y areas, we were automatically charged 18% gratuity and then charged tax on top of it! Whoa. I’ve also learned that Newport Beach is one of the wealthiest places in the USA. Homes sell on average for more than $1 million. Along the beach, double that. Yeah. Would anybody even notice one missing frozen chocolate banana?

The whole situation reminds me of something that one of Newport Beach’s most famous former-residents once remarked. John Wayne said, “Get off your horse and drink your milk.” (Yeah. I don’t know what it means either but I just like saying it.) Anyway, John Wayne would never worry about one measly overpriced, gratuity-inflated and overtaxed frozen banana, so why should I?

I conclude by saying this: thank you America for the banana and an enjoyable vacation and for all my tips, you’re welcome.