Memories of '98

"What nationality were they?" the Chinese girl cutting my hair this afternoon asked.  "Chinese," I replied.  At that she burst out laughing.  I had just told her about the two guys I had dislodged from their snowy trap the other day.  They were trying to push their car uphill!  "Oh yeah, that sounds about right," she roared. 

I would never have added their nationality to the story, but she did.  And it was true.  I had happened upon a stuck car near our house and stopped to help.  "No, no, you don't push uphill," I said.  "Here, let me drive."  So I got into their car, rocked it back and forth, back and forth in that never-fail, time-tested Canadian fashion and presto, out of its ruts it shot!  They were amazed.  Things like having the wheels straight (they didn't) and rocking are things you grew up with in the days before proper snow tires.  I still don't have any, by the way, and don't need them.

It's winter in Calgary, but G-d is it ever winter in Toronto!  My son, who lives there, has been texting me with updates about the mess that is the centre-of-the-universe.  He has no heat and no hot water, but happily can get to work and shower there.  It brings back warm memories of The Great Ice Storm of '98.  Remember that beaut?!  Brilliantly, I had insisted on a wood stove when we bought our house in Britannia in the mid-nineties.  Having had one, I didn't want a fireplace.  I wanted a cozy, snug wood stove.  My memories of that ice storm are of fun nights huddled warmly in the living room by the stove, playing board games with our daughter, then still in high school.  I cooked on it, boiled water, made tea, scrambled eggs and heated soup.  We never missed a beat.  All we had to do was get up a couple of times a night to load it up and our house was toasty.

My latent pioneer spirit was awakened in '98.  I loved it.