Snow, snow and more snow.
Toronto looks like a winter wonderland. That's a bit unusual because we aren't in the snow-belt. But this year, we have had our fair share of the white stuff.
Last week, the forecasters were calling for Snowmaggedon. Of course, it never materialzed. It never does. But the weather folks sure love to huff and puff about it, what with their special bulletins and radar maps and all.
Makes us the laughing-stock of the rest of the country. Our relatives in Quebec are always anxious that we call out the army to help with snow removal, like we did when Mel Lastman lost his mind in the 90's. To them Toronto is pathetically funny.
Then there's the driving.
It seems like there is collective amnesia when it snows. Everyone forgets how to drive and turns the roadway into roller derby. Of course, those of us who emmigrated from Quebec become quite superior. We learned how to navigate in any weather and revert to parochial arrogance when we witness the agony of Toronto motorists.
We took a long walk through the park yesterday, just to enjoy the winter scene. People were out on their cross-country skiis, the kids were tobaggonning and a hockey game had broken out on the pond. Perfect.
In the back yard, a small fox was playing in the snow on the ravine, a dash of red breaking through the white drifts.
There is much to love about winter, even here in the city.
One thing is that we're not in Buffalo. The joke around these parts is that if you live a bad life, you are reincarnated in Buffalo. There, everything is either on fire or under a ton of snow.
Makes for good television.
© Patrick O’Neill 2011. All rights reserved.