And then there was snow

So the other day, im sitting there right, normal day, kinda cold, but bearable ok. The wind is blowing a bit, leaves are all but gone off the trees, and that ugly grey cloud look covers the sky. So i sit there and im thinkin, "man i hate cold, what a waste, might as well be snow if im gonna havta bundle up to walk outside." Sure enough, not ten minutes later, it starts to fall, little chunks of snowy goodness. Yesss, score, boo yaa! It's here people, its actually here, on the verge of December and it finally happens, the snow decides to come. Now, some of you may be thinking..."Snow...i hate snow, it's cold, it's slippery, not to mention cold and rather slippery!" But people...listen, honestly, seriously, listen. Snow, do you know what this means! It means a world of adventure, it means you can do anything, and i mean anything, with a little snow and a lot of imagination, better yet, a lot of snow, and a little imagination. You just have to enjoy it!

Alright, so last winter, here i am, sitting, watching this stuff fall, hundreds of pounds of it, just covering everything in sight, waiting, just waiting for the sound, that every kid on our street longs to here. You see, i happen to live on a court, thankfully, and you'll see why in a minute. So back to the sound that i was longing to hear. Most people dread it, mainly because you only hear this sound once you've finsihed the tiring job of shovelling your driveway, oh ya, that sound. Thats right, the snow plow, long live the snow plow! You know the one, that big yellow thing that comes along your street and leaves the 10 foot wall of ice at the bottom of your driveway after you just shovelled it. Sigh, horrible, just horrible, except it isn't, infact, it's amazing! I live for that guy to come, every kid does on our street. You see, living on a court as we do, Mr. snow plow man is kind enough to leave a HUGE mountain of snow smack dab in the middle of our street! What a guy! The rumbling sound that shakes the insides of every boy and girl on Stiver Court brings them all screaming to the front door, too excited to remember how to get the stupid zipper done up, and too excited to realize mr. left boot actually goes on the left foot, not the right one. The plow circles and circles, piling the snow higher and higher, each kid watching from inside with bated breath, as each dump of snow gets closer and closer to setting a new street record for 'the highest it's every been!' Then, all of a sudden, as soon as it started, it's over, with a honk and a salute, he's gone. All thats left, through the mist of settling snow, is Mount Stiver, it's back! What happens next can only be described as absolute insanity. The sound of doors slamming, garages opening, and shovels being grabbed as kids flock from houses with all the materials they need to make this one, the best one ever! Even at the ripe old age of 'almost-18', i still get pumped for this once a year event, that leads to hours of fun outside, and hours of painful toe thawing after words. I quickly grab the bro, the boots, and the multitude of shovels, pick axes, and mini firecrackers (i'll get to those in a minute).

I join the circle of gaping children around the heap and look up at this master piece. Then it starts, shovels in hand, we start the grind to the top for the first time. Unfourtunately for me i happen to be the one with the longest legs, with warrants me with being the first up...also means i get to be the one the younger folk get to mob and throw of the top first, every year. After i've scampered back up to the top, made peace with the group again, the plans begin. Even though the plans are the same every year, we still like to act like this is the first time this has heppened in our lives, and start from scratch. All in all, we dig, right into the middle, from three different spots, then once we get to the middle, we go down, way down, until we hit the street, which as of yet, we have not figured out a way to get past. This is the plan, this is the goal, and the digging starts. A couple people per tunnel, until we all hit in the middle. The hours go by, the tunnels get deeper, and yet, no pain or cold is felt by anyone. The adreneline is pumping so high, that you don't have time to feel pain, just pure satisfaction. The night continues to get later, and yet no kids have been called in for bed yet, and this is of course due to the fact that parents know, that this is the night, where bed time means nothing, and any parent who dares call in little Jimmy, receives snow balls dans la front porch until the door is shut and mommy is back inside. Once the middle is reached by all, we start to hollow it out, and dig down, thus making it big enough to fit everyone. The digging continues, until the good old clanking sound of shovel on pavement is heard. A cheer is let out, and the firecrackers are found from the front pocket. Yes, the firecrackers, God's gift to boys who like noise. Now these are no expensive high powered rockets that fly into the sky, these are mere sticks of fun, that you light, and listen to the music of explosion. But of course them alone are not good enough, they must be placed cermemonialy (if thats a word) on a metal shovel, and placed in the middle of our hole. I, of course, have to be the one to light the fuses and then scamper out. Everyone is backed up, i say my goodbyes to all, just in case, grab my lighter, and head in. I get to the middle, place mini bimbs on the metal shovel, light it, and hightail it outta there. I roll out, join the group, and wait, and wait...and wait... and then it happens, a sound that sends shivers up your spine, and a sight that kids dream of from day one. The sound of explosion on metal, and the sight of a fire ball exploding out from each entrance makes me smile for months, not to mention shakes every house on the street. Beautiful, just beautiful, brings a tear to my eye. This signals the sound of parents calling their kids in, knowing now that the night time festivities have commenced, and hot chocolate needs to made. Goodbyes are said, highfives are given all around, and rendevouz times are made for the next morning for the surrounding wall to go up. (You see it snows more than once, meaning snow plow man comes more than once, so a wall around it makes sure that none of our hard work is covered up by snow plow mans next batch of snow). What can i say, its science. Shovels are put away, feet and hands are painfully thawed out, and smiles cannot be wiped off the faces of each and every kid on Stiver court. Ah yes, the snow, how something so simple, can make hours of fun for so many is possible i do not know, but it does, and i live for it.

So to those of you, who hate the snow, who dread the sound of the snow plow man, i suggest this, take a second, and look at it for what it's really worth. So it may be cold, hard to drive in, and can make for one long trip to work/school in the morning, but hey, deal with it! It just may be the greatest thing since sliced bread, in fact...it was the greatest thing before sliced bread. So folks, enjoy it, cause it's here, and i can't wait for that sound to come...i've already got the shovels ready.

Infact...i think i hear something now... =)

J

It starts here

It all started at 8:25 on a gloomy monday morning, deep in the grasp of November. The radio alertly alerted the unalert slug lying in bed unaware that a new week had begun. After a few puny yawns, some weak attempts at rolling over, and a seriously painful elbow smash on the surrounding wall, the radio was flicked off, and the eyes were flung open...rather slowly i might add. As the victim of another sun rising, he wiped the sleep out of his now mostly open eyes, gave a stretch, a moan, and started the treck to the shower.

Now most might think a morningly treck to the shower is an easy task, but ooo no, not for this genious. In the deep basement of a comfy house on a quiet neighbourhood in the heart of Unionville, this ones morning journey is far from normal. The first task takes supreme skill, as this room in the depths of the basement has no window, nor any light sorce at any time of the day, thus finding one's doorhandle in the blackest of black can be time consuming. After a few minutes of aimless arm waving, grunts, and snarls, the door handle is located, and the rather nipply air of the underworld he calls his domain is let in. Wearing a pair of mere boxers makes this a rather fun experience to say the least.

A step out onto the thin, warn away carpet reveilles that, no, its still not summer yet, as the crisp cold fabric presses gently against the newly awoken bear feet, waking them up, just a bit. A few steps are taken, eyes still desperately trying to see some source of light to guide him across what seems like a football feild towards the bathroom. After a few more aimless steps, he meets the first of many obstacles he encounters daily, the brother's hockey equipment, nicley thrown around to dry. This may seem easy enough to get around, but you try overpowering a mound of soaking wet, sharp, discombobulating hockey pads with a rather pungent odor, and see how you fair early in the morning. What happens next would cause great laughter if it were ever seen by the outside world, but it is a must seeing as the shower awaits. Not being able to jump over it, due to the obvious fact of being awake for less than 3 minutes, or the rather low ceiling he lives under, and not wanting to actually touch the heap, he is forced back into his cavern. The duvet cover is removed from the bed, wrapped neatly around entire body, and headed back out into the black abis a top this champion of the early morn. This next process took some time to get the hang of, as rolling over a pile of fuming plasticy whatever-it's-made-of stuff, wrapped in a duvet cover should do. Once the body is completely consumed by blanket, and is slumped on the floor, the rolling begins. The acent upwards can be difficult, depending from morning to morning on what peice of equipment happens to be at the front. This very morning was easy compared to some as a mere shin guard and jock strap lay at the forefront. Once at the top, a skate to the hip and helmet to the face quickly propels the roll of fabric down the other side. At this point, diziness can be at the max, as speeds of approximately 75 km/h have been reached during the spinning descent down the mountian. Once the ground is met, the covers untangled, and the minute or so of recovery is over with, the journey continues on to the next event. Next event simply titled, the sticks.

To make a long story short, the pile of wood his youngest kin calls the hockey stick collection, is always on the far side of the mountian...and is always, always stepped on, tripped over, and then yelled at.

Next comes the ever-so-joyful tile floor into the hallway that holds le bathroom destination. Each tile more cold than the last, testing the pain threshold of this poor soul. As every bone in the body is concentrated on making it to the end of this icy hall, all else forgotten, including the (for some reason) always open cubbord door at the end of this very hall. Now before this tale continues, i'm sure we all have had the feeling of stubbing a toe, and i'm sure we've all had an experience of having a cold limb of the body being hit, both causing severe pain on their own. But take one's icy cold feet, and connect it with the corner of a cubbord door, and you get yourself one loud yelp for mercy. Simple as that.

Next comes the bathroom, finally, the bathroom, the place once so sought after, now just a resting place for a throbbing body in need of some first aid. But the fun isn't quite over, ooo no, not just yet, because lying in front of him, smiling with it's evil little glare, looms the light switch. Ah yes, how such a little flick can cause such severe pain to the head is beyond me, but it does. The flick from pitch black, to bright as day, causes what one could say, the equivalent of a heart attack to the eyes. This sudden shock can cause head jerking, leg weakening, and even has been known to cause black outs to those unprepared. Nevertheless, it has to be done, and after three minutes of regaining consciousness, the shower is in sight. The removing of the boxers, calling of thy nature, and water turning on-idge brings this beaten trooper to the end of his journey, the sighs of relief from within the shower second that thought.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, why this young buck doesn't do the unthinkable, and turn on a light or two along the way, not waiting for the shocker at the end in the washroom. Why wouldn't he move the equipment the night before? Neatly place it out of the way, give a few squirts of febreeze, and be done with it? Why couldn't he pile the hundreds of synergies off to the side, out of harm's way? Why doesnt' this trooper just wear socks out of the room? Well to him, these are all valid points, and yes, mornings could be a simple flick of the radio, and comfortable jaunt to the shower. No pain, no suffering, no frostbite, no nothing, just shower time.

Well folks...to that this guy says...that would just be too easy...!

Enjoy the blog...

'Nuf said...