Snow. To some the word is no different from plenty of other, choice, four-letter words. It comes every Winter without question in this province. Sometimes we receive the good fortune, however, to receive its cold, white kiss before October is even given the opportunity to close its eyes to November. Countless folks out there will express their differing opinion on this, but from my perspective, the first little dusting of snow represents something eventful, lovely, or simply put: nice. When we look down to our phones or devices to open up the icon for whichever system we trust most in, only to witness those little flurry emojis show themselves for the fist time, coming some time over the next coming week, it’s no doubt shocking to our system, like some joke we will never find funny. Yes, it seems cruel when it first occurs; yet, it’s cruelty for which we seem shocked, despite it being of little to no surprise when thinking through the history of our lives. No, this is pre-Winter snow is quite routine, indeed.
Truth be told: the presence of the first snow brings me some distinct joy for the events I know will soon follow. The glow of the bright colourful lights, the crisp, cool breezes, the skiing, the sledding, the time on the ice, the construction of snow forts of epic proportion (which I’ve written on previously) plus, of course, my most cherished of festivities throughout the entire month of December. Sure I will fuss or criticize the decor the moment I see it hit the store shelves, but deep down inside for me it’s never too soon to get the cheer going, be it the books, the hot cider, the shows or the songs, it brings joy from within. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not rushing out to get my tree or setting up boughs of holly throughout the house, but it does still ignite something to know
the time for those things will be here soon enough.
Beyond the snow, the cold, the festivities, I’m excited, too, for the evening strolls I know to be in our future. One of my most cherished memories from this time in 2022, comes from the multiple times my kiddos would join me under the night sky while we explored our thoughts, recounted the events from our time in school or work, or however we spent our sunlight hours, only to venture ourselves home to the living room, huddling under the thick, cozy comforter my Mom knit for us, (our forever hug) nestled up by the fire, sipping hot cider or some other soothing drink of choice. These memories become the moments I feel hopeful to enjoy once more, even though I do recognize they won’t be precise copies of those experiences or feelings which occurred previously, they still invoke merriment. Yes, this time between return to school through the festive month of December seems both precious, yet concurrently burdensome. Still, I love it, cherish it, revel in it; both for my own enjoyment, together with the joy it brings my children.
These things in mind: I’m not wishing the current months to simply dissolve into the ether of history. No, no, I’m simply grooming my thoughts for the imminent, sudden turn from sun-kissed breezes, to bone-chilling gusts, so I might not find its brunt debut so unfriendly or troublesome. There is still so much to enjoy before we welcome the switch between terms, so much I will not let simply fly by without its due recognition. Most prominently throughout the progression of one period to the next, I must divulge the thing I hunger most for is the shift from BBQ to, you guessed it: soup! The bounty of Winter brings with it the infinite possibilities for soups, stews, slow-cooked indulgences which, during other moments of time would be too weighty to properly enjoy. Thick beef stew on the shores of some glistening, blue surf, post-swim, does not sound entirely delightful. French onion soup in front of the fire, post work, post ski lesson, post outdoor excursions through the woods however, well, I don’t know if something else could conclude such experiences quite so perfectly. Rich, exquisite broth, founded by sweet delicious onions, then topped with mounds of ooey, gooey, melty, cheeses, meticulously broiled before hitting the counter. The poutine of soups, if you will. You try not to simply dive in, for you know the only thing to come would be the scorching of your tongue, followed by the fiery, blistering, burn on the roof of your mouth. Yet, there’s no sense in pretending control is something within your wheelhouse. You dive in. It’s completely worth it.
But I digress; Winter is coming. Forts rule. I love the festivities. I love my kids. Soup is delicious. One post broken down into five, succinct comments. Drop the mic.
To conclude this post properly, however, one which you likely noticed is slightly curious or ‘off’ with its odd form of expression or tone, I will let you in on the true purpose behind it. You see, there is something within this post, inspired by my wife, who reminded me just recently of the one I wrote roughly twenty-months prior to now (in Feb of 2022 believe it or not!), which yielded its own corresponding, unique construct (you could check it out here, if you wish). See the trick with it begins with the title, which when spoken out loud, provides you clues to its true design or objective: “There’s snow, eh!”. Let the words blend together while you project your voice; the truth will expose itself when you do. The topic of “snow” is not the true point of this blog entry, it is simply the method in which I could provide title without defying the very rule I put in front of myself. To remind you: previously I selected the letter ‘E’ for this test of wit, but this time I desired to choose something else; vowels seem to present the most worthy competition, so hence the long-winded, circuitous post you’ve just endured. Once more it required over 1,000 words to tick the ‘done’ box, which now I will do with pride.
I’m indebted to your resilience for digesting this entire entry, constructed mostly of nonsense. While my words ring true to how I feel, I’m truly sorry for imprinting the thoughts of Winter into your minds before we’ve even seen November.