Oh, actually, NO I DON’T. With every day that goes by, it seems to get colder and colder and it make me want to hurt someone. I want to kneel on some dude’s chest and give him the beating that Edward Norton gave Jared Leto in Fight Club. Why? Because for some reason, THAT’LL MAKE IT NOT WINTER ANYMORE. We had that fake Spring, and then Superman must have spun around the world backwards or something because now it’s mid-January again. And I seem to be going through the five stages of grief in reverse, I was accepting, I passed through fear and denial, and now I’m in the stage that involves great flaming anger.
When my brother, my cousin and I were in grade school, we would spend mornings and lunches at my Nanny’s house, and whenever it was raining or about to rain my grandmother did this thing. She would place a statue of some saint (it’s lost to me who), and this saint was supposed to keep away the rain. At the time, it was sweet and it made us feel all loved and stuff, but it was only a couple years ago that it occurred to me that my Nanny, to some degree, believed she could control the weather with only her tiny statues and the windowsill. Or maybe that was all just ritual. Maybe Nanny was secretly one of the X-Men.
Actually, it’s pretty clear that I share Nanny’s blood (in a cup, during a full moon—it’s all part of that Voodoo-Catholicism we McLeans have going on.) Since the fake Spring, I’ve been on and off hat and scarf strike. I also brought about a short-lived winter coat embargo. Sarah thinks I’m cracked, and while I tell her that I do it so I’ll savour warm weather all the more when it gets here, I know that a part of me believes that these wardrobe changes will somehow bring about Spring. All that’s happened so far is that I get to work with purple cheeks—which might be why I’m so angry.
When my brother, my cousin and I were in grade school, we would spend mornings and lunches at my Nanny’s house, and whenever it was raining or about to rain my grandmother did this thing. She would place a statue of some saint (it’s lost to me who), and this saint was supposed to keep away the rain. At the time, it was sweet and it made us feel all loved and stuff, but it was only a couple years ago that it occurred to me that my Nanny, to some degree, believed she could control the weather with only her tiny statues and the windowsill. Or maybe that was all just ritual. Maybe Nanny was secretly one of the X-Men.
Actually, it’s pretty clear that I share Nanny’s blood (in a cup, during a full moon—it’s all part of that Voodoo-Catholicism we McLeans have going on.) Since the fake Spring, I’ve been on and off hat and scarf strike. I also brought about a short-lived winter coat embargo. Sarah thinks I’m cracked, and while I tell her that I do it so I’ll savour warm weather all the more when it gets here, I know that a part of me believes that these wardrobe changes will somehow bring about Spring. All that’s happened so far is that I get to work with purple cheeks—which might be why I’m so angry.
Comments
T
Davey, your Nanny probably doesn't look the same as Halle Berry in the leather outfit. But if she likes it, then all the power to her.
I don't think you've quite realized that Ottawa is the reason why the weather is bad. They have a dome of shit-ness around the city that created ridiculousy nut-freezing cold in the winter, and broil-a-thon heat in the summer.
Here in Toronto, it's been 25C all week, and they just shipped in some white sand so we can have a big beach party on University Ave.
Yeah, I hate winter too. I find it spew-worthy.