A Loco Viewpoint
You can spot them a kilometer away; three or four kilometers if you live in Saskatchewan. They are so hopelessly addicted to their delusional beliefs; they make “bonkers” the new “normal”. It’s not some weird religious sect; God knows there are gobs of those. Rather, it’s a horrible affliction known as “premature equinoxation”. This is where people in our climate develop an insane belief that every sunny day means the unlamented demise of Old Man Winter and all his chillins.
It’s March, people! Don’t you remember last year and the year before and all the years before that? Whatever the calendar might indicate, this is the prairies. March comes in like a lion and goes out like a saber-toothed tiger. If you believe otherwise, you haven’t been paying attention or are very new to the area.
Sadly, my own dear Cupcake suffers from this dementia. Every time it’s warm enough to make our ice-dam worse, she is fluttering about using the “S” word; as in the season between winter and summer. I hate to use the term until at least late May or June. This is because anytime anybody starts throwing the “s” word around, there is swift and frosty retribution. We get another foot of a different “s” word, plus overnight temperatures that turns car seats to concrete, making your sphincter launch into condition; “Insta-roid”.
It’s not like Cupcake hasn’t seen a western Canadian winter or two. She has seen 35, actually, which is notable since she claims she’s only 29. You’d think she’d know by now that winter is a six month journey around these parts. But no. Instead of taking a nice day calmly and with devout appreciation for a break in the frost, she leaps at every mildly vernal indication as proof the heaps of snow in our backyard are merely an optical illusion.
“Look, Honey!,” she will titter. “A bird! It’s probably a robin! How exciting! The first robin of…”
“Uh uh uh!” I interjected hastily. “That’s a crow, dear and he lives here all year round. Please don’t use the “s” word since as sure as God made morons, the second you do, Old Man Winter whacks us again.”
“Why doesn’t the poor crow fly south for the winter?” frowned Cupcake thoughtfully.
“I don’t know, maybe he’s on some kind of American ‘No Fly List’,” I mused. “Do I look like an ichthyologist?”
“There’s no sense getting into another argument over what you look like, my sweet,” snickered my loving bride.
As delusional as Cupcake is about being a premature equinoxian, my neighbor, Cam, takes the cake. (He does love cake.) I have seen him outside enduring temperatures below freezing while enjoying the fire-pit in his back yard. No letter of lie or exaggeration but a week ago, when we had that snowstorm that featured clumps of falling flakes the size of beach-balls, there was Cam in his full winter gear, placidly poking his blazing, snow-hissing pit and sipping on a cool one. A REALLY cool one.
“Cam… buddy…,” I said to him, having gone out to investigate. “What the puff are you doing?”
“Well, it was nice earlier,” he admitted calmly. “I thought I saw the sun peek out for a second so I raced out here to spark ‘er up.”
“You must feel silly now,” I ventured. “Kind of a waste of firewood.”
“Not at all,” snorted my neighbor serenely. “I got ‘er fired up pretty good before the weather started getting dirty so it won’t put the flames out, no matter how hard it snows. Besides, when I started, it was gorgeous out. Almost above freezing… it felt like the change of season.”
I looked around at the blizzard assailing us before responding.
“To what?” I prodded. “From winter to even worse winter?”
“You’re not calling this winter weather, are you?” snickered Cam, apparently delirious. “This is just a spring shower that has to go through a small layer of cold air to reach the ground. The best part is, it doesn’t make you feel as wet as rain does.”
“Do you have windshield wipers for those rose-coloured glasses?” I asked incredulously. “We are being pummeled like mad and you act like it’s SP 1000 sunblock weather. Are you insane?”
“Not at all,” he grinned slyly. “If I wasn’t out here, I’d be inside. The only thing Cec will allow on TV for the next week is figure skating.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, finally seeing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“So, the choice is pretty clear,” he continued unabated, much like the storm. “I can stay inside like a lump or I can convince Cec I think it’s the start of fire-pit season.”
His logic was undeniable. However, just because he was right didn’t mean he’d won the argument. I’ve been married to Cupcake long enough to know that.
“So you are saying you are feigning your love for Spr… er… the vernal equinox in order to have an excuse to escape figure skating on TV?” I parried quickly. “So you admit I am right? It’s way too premature to be talked about?”
“For starters,” Cam returned, warming up to the topic (not to mention the fire-pit), “you’re the one that brought up your infernal equinox, not me. Secondly, if you would see a nice day as a sign of spring with many more to come, instead of a minor, brief respite from the ravages of winter, don’t you think you’d be a lot happier? You might even be able to stop haranguing people and enjoy this nice spring day like I am. Here. Have a beer. You might see what I mean.”
As the gigantic snowflake clusters continued to blanket everything in the area, including us, we solemnly toasted the arrival of spring. He may be onto something!
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