by Raymond Alexander Kukkee
The big storm. Oh, my…let the whining begin.
It could be fairly argued that Canadians, in fact a great number of North Americans, have become softer in the last few decades, perhaps even becoming winter wimps and worse.
I have to agree with her.
Up here in Northwestern Ontario, 900 miles northwest of Conny, and in most rural areas, bad weather comes, 3′ of snow or not, we deal with it. Whiteout conditions, we deal with it. Square-tire -45ºC , frozen batteries, locks and butts, icy roads, snowbanks, road salt and all, we deal with it.
We’re Canadians. Tough. Used to winter. Nemo or not. We walked to school in snow up to our chests. Our grandfather(s) invented snowplows so woosies could drive to Bay Street on February summer-bare roads instead of having to emulate real Canadians, those guys driving the old farm team belly-deep in snow 30 miles to deliver wagon-loads of food to cities. That figures. We always make it easier for whiners to do less, live softer, cushier lives, and complain more.
Connie loves the snow, which is an anomaly, her being from South Africa of course. South Africa the warm. She is an exception; she doesn’t mind walking in snow up to
Timmins Regina, yes, walking in the icy cold stuff, slippery, with the inevitable slipping, sliding, falling down, frozen fingers, or even a frozen forehead. How about some nice, blowing slow that stings exposed skin. Snow in her boots? Conny revels in it. She says bring it on, she loves snow. She loves winter.
Regardless, always being alert and aware, Connie has observed a dearth of real Canadians; it seems now in Toronto she is totally surrounded by all-season, ‘snow-tireless’ –
useless slippery-slidey-fall-down-and-cry -call-in-the-army Torontonians that still want to drive 110km/r on Hwy 401, foolish and worse, “smartly or not”, let us politely say, on their liver-slick summer tires all the way to slip-slidey Timmy’s instantly-plowed parking-lot for a latte, cappuccino, and a fancy glazed doughnut.
Connie, of course, is referring to the whining, woosie, faint-at-heart imports and deteriorated, soft third-generation compulsive live-in-the-mall-crawlers, who wear toques when it gets below 22ºC. And whine. And fall down and get cold too. And complain.
Snowflakes are falling! The din, the din! ” What a mess we’re in” is the chorus.
Oh, please. Let me pull the Canadian flaps down over my ears.
This is Canada. If you don’t like snow, if you can’t manage it, contemplate this as you sip that Cappuccino el Grande…. drink some real black coffee instead, get snow tires, buck up, get out of the shopping malls, and give it the old Canadian try. Play some hockey while you’re at it.
Wimps and worse
Failing that, off to Texas or Mexico you go, where orange trees grow, and there IS no snow. How about that for wonderful, poetic logic? If nothing else, it would save us the incessant cacophony of whining as our shovels bite through that packed, wonderful stuff we Canadians call snow.
Our Canadian Inuit might have a gazillion words for snow, “S-N-O-W” as we call it, –and we love it! We’re real Canadians, and yes, we do exist. Really!
Thanks Conny! Be safe and enjoy the snowstorm while it lasts!
Is that Incoming I hear?