Tag: winter

Re: Joy

My mom was Joy to her mother, for a period of time anyway. Perhaps that’s what joy is; a small glimpse of what might be, a flash of sunlight, something to squint into and smile over so we can continue to look for a more lasting happiness based on a mutually assured place in the sunshine of our thoughts. My mother Joy rarely shared the temperament her name suggests. Joyous she was not. She despised her own mother and barely got along with her own daughter. As a teenager I would ponder that name and wonder what the opposite might be, because surely that would be a better moniker for my mom’s contrarian spirit.

If joy is a notch above happiness then it stands to reason that it is hard to come by. A good mood does not come naturally to most people. I’d like to discover the country where it is common currency. To smile or not to smile; that should have been the Shakespearean question. For it is nobler to soldier-on than to reveal the general humdrum nature of one’s existence. There is a fellow named Gurdeep Pandher who posts regularly on social media encouraging the pursuit of Joy, Hope and Positivity. Along with this wonderful message he dances bhangra which, when joining in, somehow allows the oxygen to blend with the optimism in the bloodstream to metaphorically warm the chambers of even the Scroogiest heart.

I wake to feelings of joy each morning, even if I am kidding myself a little. The euphoria sputters and falls quickly to happy, then with a small breath in I am content, and before touching down on the floor with my cold feet I am convinced I am satisfied. If it is Christmas time I will hum ‘Joy to the World’ as I am shaving. My intention is to make a joyful noise unto the world, even if it sounds like I’m trying too hard. At other times of the year I might think thoughts of tulips, summer picnics, or an autumn romance just to keep embers of hope alive. I believe hope, joy, and faith all come as a combo from some spiritual warehouse but usually something goes wrong with my order and when I open the shipping container a part is missing.

Being in the season of darkness can leave us searching for the sun. At such times as these in a war torn, self-centred world it is hard to find solace or solidarity. When I think about my times of trouble I can recall mysterious moments of clarity. Like a lift in my being, a little leap grows from my heart and I suspect it might be joy. I can’t pin it down. The feeling flutters by. It doesn’t alight long enough for me to examine its structure, weight, colour or dimensions. Its transitory nature makes it difficult to classify yet I know the troubles that had been mine moments before were lightened by this different perspective. Joy to the world.

Re: Snow

Most Canadians have a love/hate relationship with snow. Every car has a snow shovel, a snow scraper and some vehicles even have snow chains waiting in the trunk. I used to have a set of snow tires on rims which I put on the car every October in preparation for the first heavy snowfall. We all have our horror stories of finding our way through snow. We spin tales of our first childhood experience with snow, wishes for snow days or being snowed in so we don’t have to go to work or school. Freshly fallen snow can be a source of wonder and delight, especially if the snowfall is on Christmas Eve. Who can forget the joy in that excited shout, “It’s snowing!”

One December I headed out with my young family to spend Christmas holidays with relatives in Thunder Bay. It’s a long trip from home and the light dims early at that time of year. Half way through the journey the wind starting whipping the snowflakes into a frenzy called a white-out. Car headlights are useless as the beams reflect back at you. Dimensions are distorted; no up, down or sideways is discernible. On this drive I tried to lock my sight on to the vehicle in front, a transport truck with a small red rear light showing on its back left hand corner. Luckily an inner voice told me I was being stupid so we pulled into the next motel. Only one room was left and, I kid you not, sifted snow had piled its way into the closet.

I’ve never enjoyed driving a car on snowy roads. I survived 30 winters in Timmins Ontario, where snow can be expected from September to June. I dare not estimate the number of driveways I have shovelled during those years. Some snowdrifts completely covered my car. I built a carport and a garage in an effort to minimize the coverage yet I still had to clear a way to the road, which was often not plowed until midday, creating a crusty mound of snow at the end of the entryway.

Rolling up sticky snow to create snowmen never loses its allure. Everyone has memories of building snow forts, throwing snowballs, or sledding down hillsides. I satisfied my wish to leave the dark side of winter wonderlands behind by retiring in Victoria, British Columbia. The family gathered at the homestead on the final Christmas In Timmins and the young ones honoured us by sculpting two snow replicas of my wife and me in tropical accessories.

There are many words used to describe types of snow; sludge, scrump, slurry, floaters, are some I’ve heard. Many words come attached to curses. Being a poet, my favourite is ‘snowy-dews’; those jumbo sized flakes that meander from whisper-still skies to melt on contact with parka-clad humans. A panoramic view of these fragile crystal structures makes me want to softly sing with a vibrato Bing Crosby-esque voice.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orJ9-bdNi_s