January 28, 2014
I have come to the conclusion that when it comes to winter, Canadians—at least those of us that live in the cities—suffer from a seasonal amnesia. When it snows or gets cold, or when the rain turns to ice and it gets slippery, it comes as a complete and total shock. We like to think we’re good at winter, but we’re not anymore. And it seems like every year we’re all getting worse.
I took an informal poll, and it turns out that I know people who live in this country, in this city, where today it is twenty-seven below, who don’t own a single pair of long underwear. Whereas my grandfather’s generation wore long underwear every day for six months straight, so he probably had two pairs.
And I’m just as bad. I was away from Toronto over the holidays when the power went out. And after three days I was worried my pipes might freeze. And my father looked at me with total confusion and said, “It’s the winter. Why didn’t you drain your pipes before you left?” And I’m like, “I didn’t drain my pipes before I left because I don’t live in the Dark Ages.” Not a very good comeback when the city you live in has no power. And it’s not like I don’t know any better. I have lived through half a dozen ice storms. I know what to expect, and yet I was completely unprepared. It’s not climate change I’m worried about, it’s memory change.
So the next time I leave, I will be prepared. The pipes will be drained, the long johns will be packed and I don’t want to cause panic, but one of these days I might get myself a box of emergency candles. So let’s say it together, people: This is not new. It’s not a polar vortex. It happens every year. It’s called winter.