The air started to freeze. I woke up on Sunday morning to go to attend a brunch. We had made noises about going on a run, yeah, because we’re tough, yeah, tough Edmontonians who embraced the cold. Yeah.
But, the very air started to freeze. We looked outside on Sunday morning, and it looked cold. Not snowy or wintry, but cold. The moisture in the air was freezing, and suspending, creating an ice fog. This is actually a thing.
Saturday night, Edmonton was the coldest inhabited place on Earth. There were some weather stations in fucking Siberia that were colder, but people have the good sense to not actually live there. Here, we have no sense of any kind, including in our toes which, despite shoes, layers of socks, and vigorous stamping, have lost all feeling.
The very air froze, and hung there, shimmering, brooding, and menacing me from my warm apartment window. I looked at it for a few minutes. I was afraid. It was as if Death itself was slowing, turning, revealing itself, reminding us that should we stay too long in its embrace, it would never let go.
Why do we live in a city that features weather that could kill us in less than an hour? The general excuse/defense for living in such conditions – “Well, at least the sun is shining” – rings hollow when the loogie I spit freezes (and glints in the sunshine as it arcs in the air) before it hits the ground. I don’t care if the sun is shining, my car windows are freezing on the inside.
“You know,” my friend ‘Art’ tells me, “even block heaters stop working after a certain temperature. The current does not run well along your extension cord, and your heater does not turn on.”
It is so cold, even electricity was giving up. I started at Art, in disbelief, and imagined a cloud of electrons, staring out from an electrical socket, and harshly whispering “fuck it.” I imagine it putting on its bathrobe, turning up the temperature, warming up a cup of cocoa (and “correcting” it with a bit of brandy), and kicking back with the Tiger Woods issue of Us Weekly. A cold engine be damned!
It was around about the time I wiped my nose and the resulting moisture on my finger began to steam off that I quashed any idea of living here the rest of my life. No. It won’t do. It’s not worth it. I find no smugness in telling friends who live in saner climes “Cold? You don’t know cold.”
I did think of you, in the balmy 15 degree sunshine here. . .
Will it make you feel better if I tell you that a) I bought you something, and b) there is no way in hell my car is going to start, being a diesel that has not been plugged in at all?
Comment by Mrs.Spit — December 15, 2009 @ 3:55 am